State of Decay
by Obsidian Nexus
Summary: A novelization of the game. Marcus and Ed are two friends who have just stumbled out of the woods into a world gone crazy, a world infested with undead horrors. Together with a collection of others who made it this far, they must fortify their position, gather supplies and cut deals with other survivors, all while attempting to survive the zombie apocalypse.
1. Chapter 01: Before the Storm

Marcus found it difficult to take his eyes off the immense natural beauty surrounding him. He and Ed had managed to snag an absolutely excellent camping spot that sat right at the edge of the lake. He scanned the water's surface, which was clear and smooth in this largely windless day. Every now and then, a fish would break the surface, jumping into the air for a moment before slapping the water and disappearing beneath. Dragonflies and other insect wildlife buzzed the lake, breaking the fragile surface tension, leaving behind infinitesimal waves in their wake. Just down the way, maybe thirty feet to the left, he could see the little wooden dock.

He and Ed had fished off of it all yesterday and a little bit this morning, attempting to squeeze every last drop of fun from the vacation before it came to an unhappy end. Which it had. Marcus could hear Ed behind him, packing their stuff, getting ready to head back into civilization. He knew he should turn and help, but he found it hard to look away. Shifting his gaze from the lake to the forest surrounding them, Marcus promised himself another sixty seconds, then he'd get back to it. Just sixty seconds of peace.

"Hey, you gonna help or what, you lazy bastard?" Ed asked, tossing an empty can at Marcus's back. It hit the back of his dark vest and bounced off.

Marcus sighed. "Thank you, Ed," he said, turning, kneeling and retrieving the can.

"Anytime, buddy!" Ed replied merrily.

Marcus walked over to the big, black bag they'd set aside for trash and tossed the can into it. He turned and made his way over to what remained of his own gear that still needed packing. Crouching, he grabbed his bright orange sleeping back and began rolling it up.

"So, what are you gonna do when we get home?" Ed asked.

"I don't know, maybe go up to the gym, jog for an hour. I don't have to go back to work for another two days. Maybe play some games. I just got Silent Hills before we did this," Marcus replied, finishing tightly rolling up the sleeping bag. He began to stuff it into its canvas bag.

"Oh yeah, I thought I heard you playing it. I still think that's a silly name, but how far'd you get?" Ed asked, struggling with his own sleeping bag now.

"Only like an hour in." Marcus cinched the black drawstring and took a moment to inspect the bag. Satisfied that it was a job well done, he set it with the tent, which they'd already broken down and sealed away, then began to move towards the fishing gear.

"Hey...could you help me?" Ed asked.

Marcus stopped and glanced back. Ed was on the ground, struggling with his bed away from home. Marcus snorted, crossed the camp site and knelt, batting away Ed's hands. "Give it up, man. You screwed it all up."

His dark knuckles whitened momentarily as he took firm grasp of the bed and quickly rolled it up. A moment later, he was cinching a second drawstring and standing.

"How do you _do _that so easily?" Ed asked, his voice a mix of amiable frustration and mock marvel.

"Practice," Marcus replied.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Sure-_oof_!" He caught the bag as Marcus tossed it into his chest.

The pair continued to police up the camp site, making sure nothing was left behind. This was their yearly tradition, something that they had carried on now for nearly twenty years. The park rangers were notorious about handing out permanent bans for anyone who violated the sanctity of their park. Not that Marcus blamed them, it really was a beautiful location. So he worked overtime to make sure they left nothing behind.

Already he'd made two pilgrimages to the nearest black-barrel trash can, and he was working to make sure he wouldn't have to make anymore than one final trek. He made another pass over the camp site. Ed was finishing collecting up all the odds and ends, and it seemed as though they truly had policed up all the garbage.

"Be right back," Marcus said, tying off the black bag and shouldering it.

"Take your time, I'm not in much rush to get back," Ed replied, finishing his task and taking a seat on the white and orange cooler, staring out over the lake.

Marcus looked at him for a moment, feeling a pang of regret and guilt, then turned and began making his way towards the trash barrel. Marcus hailed from what the people of Trumbull Valley, (their current location), called 'The Big City'. It wasn't really all that big of a city, maybe fifty or sixty thousand people. It was about a three-hour drive from their camp site further upstate. For as long as he could remember, his father had continued a family tradition of coming down to Trumbull Valley and camping for a week or two.

When Marcus was six, he'd discovered another six year old, a Trumbull local named Edward Jones. They had quickly become best friends. Each year, Marcus would look forward to coming down and hanging out with his new best friend Ed. It got to the point that they'd switch off hanging out for at least a month during summer vacation. Either Marcus would come down and live with Ed and his parents, or Ed would be brought up and live with Marcus and his parents in 'The Big City'. By the time they hit eighteen, they decided they wanted to live together.

Ed had hit the stage in his life where he wanted out of the small town. His taste of Marcus's hometown had enamored him with city life. So after high school, they both went to a state college, living in dorm rooms for four years, while they both got bachelors degrees in business. When that was done, they'd decided to move back to Marcus's hometown. They'd moved into an apartment and taken jobs at a local office complex.

And so it had been for three years.

About halfway through college, Ed has lost his 'sick of it' attitude towards Trumbull and moved back during summers. Marcus had felt the same pull towards Trumbull: it was his vacation spot. The ultimate nostalgia trip that was all the good things about childhood summer vacations. But that was likely going to change in some capacity.

Marcus frowned at that thought. Up ahead, he spied the trash barrel. He tossed the trash in there and turned to look out over the lake again. It wasn't that he didn't still appreciate nature, that he didn't still love the relaxation and isolation it offered. He didn't bring his laptop and his phone had been turned off, since there was no reception up here. Being cut off from the world was its own reward...though maybe not as much as it once had been. Marcus heaved a sigh, turned and began walking back.

All this trip, he found himself thinking more and more about how he wanted to get back to the city. Back to cars and video games and the gym and the people. There was, he supposed unhappily, a real truth to that old saying 'You can't go home'. He could keep coming back here and doing the exact same things year after year, but it was _him_ that had changed. Was this growing up? Getting older? If it was, he hated it.

Marcus felt confident that he could squeeze at least another year, maybe two, of enjoyment out of this, and who knew? Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe it was just his state of mind and he'd keep it going. But there was a small but sure part of him that felt this vacation sounded the death knell of the past, of his childhood. He continued along the path, seeing Ed up ahead, who hadn't moved, still sitting on that cooler. But Ed stood up as he approached.

"That it? Ready?" he asked.

"Yep, it's time to get heading back."

Ed turned and looked at the pile of stuff. "Ugh," he muttered, kneeling and grabbing his backpack. He shrugged into it.

"What?" Marcus asked, first attaching his bedroll to the top of his backpack, then slipping it on over his shoulders.

"Do we really gotta carry all this stuff back?" Ed moaned. "I mean, like, all of it? All at once?" He frowned unhappily at it.

"Yes," Marcus said, rolling his eyes. He knelt and passed Ed one of the two fold-out chairs that had, like everything else, already been packed into a canvas bag. "We do. And besides, it'll be a lot lighter than when we brought it in. We ate and drank all the supplies, pretty much. Now, quit bitching and help me."

"You're starting to sound like Mister Parkhurst," Ed said.

"Gee, thanks," Marcus replied.

As they finished gathering up their gear, Marcus thought unhappily of the man who ran their division of the office building. Parkhurst was a grim, old unhappy man of fifty five who had climbed the corporate ladder through sheer grit and determination. A classic, old-school case of a man who had no problem sacrificing friendships to get ahead and who took a special kind of perverse pleasure in shitting on those who worked beneath him.

They finished packing everything up and balanced the tent atop the cooler, which they carried between them. Marcus took one final look around and, satisfied, began to move away. He and Ed walked in silence for a few moments, listening to the quiet calm of the forest as they moved through it. Ed spoke up suddenly.

"Hey, I had a thought. How about we stop by the bait shop again before we head out of town?" he asked.

Marcus laughed. "No, Ed. No, for the both of us. That was just embarrassing. I know you think you're Mister Suave or whatever, but...no way, man. And besides, I mean, how old was she? Seventeen? _Maybe_ eighteen."

"Eighteen is legal," Ed said after a moment's contemplation.

"And not worth it. What if she gets pregnant? Besides, you live three hours away! Why do I even have to explain this to you?" Marcus asked.

"Okay, okay! No need to get all worked up over it," Ed replied.

Marcus opened his mouth to respond, then stopped dead as he suddenly caught a whiff of something absolutely wretched.

"Whoa!" Ed cried, yanked back by the cooler they carried. The tent fell forward onto the ground. "What's the deal man? Your brain stop working?"

"Did you smell that?" Marcus replied, his face twisting up in disgust. It smelled like rotted, maggot-ridden meat you might find in a hot dumpster. But already the smell was fading. Marcus looked around for the origin of the offending odor.

"No," Ed replied, "smell what?"

"I...don't know. It's gone now. It was like rotting meat. It was _so _bad."

"Well, whatever, probably a deer or a squirrel or something in the underbrush. Come on, help me get this tent back up."

Marcus hesitated a moment longer, then did as asked. Once they were on their way again, Marcus found that the awful reek had knocked loose some unhappy and curious memories. They'd been out here for two weeks and had only gone back into town once, and that was three days after they'd arrived. Since that one trip in, they hadn't really left the camp site, definitely not the forest. About eight days ago, Marcus had woken in the middle of the night to gunfire. A lot of it. And shouting. He'd been half-drunk still and exhausted, and Ed hadn't even woken up. In the days that followed, he'd passed it off as a bunch of college kids going nuts with booze and guns.

It wasn't uncommon.

But now, having had time to really examine it, Marcus wasn't so sure. Those shouts hadn't really sounded like shouts of joy, the whooping and hollering of drunk idiots having a good time. Now, he thought they sounded more like screams of pain and fear. His heart beating a little faster, he wondered what had been going on that night.

"Hey..." Ed said, slowing, then stopping. "I just realized something."

"What?" Marcus asked, a little more harshly than he meant to.

"I...there's like no sound out here," Ed said.

"What?"

"The animals. Nothing, I don't hear anything. No birds chirping, no insects buzzing, no animal calls. It's like...dead silent. I mean, right?"

Marcus listened. They were close to the treeline now. "Yeah...maybe it's just...a quiet day," he murmured, still thinking.

"Isn't that like, bad? I mean, everything shuts up right before natural disasters. Like tornadoes or earthquakes. It's one of the warning signs."

"Okay, look, let's just get back to the car," Marcus said, picking up the pace again.

Ed started walking again as the cooler pulled him along.

They were nearing the treeline.


	2. Chapter 02: The Day the World Went Away

They passed through the treeline.

Marcus felt a palpable sense of relief wash through him, it was like slipping into a cool bath at the end of a particularly brutal workout. Was he really this tense? He glanced back behind him and finally chalked it up to being 'out of the woods', that old, old holdover from when man was not man but caveman. The forest was a dangerous place and it was easy to get your hackles raised. Plus, well, there were some weird things going on. The silence, those mysterious gunshots earlier, and that smell...he meant to start walking again, (both he and Ed had stopped once they passed the perimeter of the forest, as if reaching some unspoken agreement,) but now he hesitated further.

That smell...

It was back.

"Oh, _god_," Ed moaned. "I can smell it now. Damn, that is one nasty stink," he muttered. "We're going to have to tell someone. It's like a meat factory is dumping month old rotten corpses or something around here."

"Real nice, Ed," Marcus replied.

The sense of subtle dread, a quiet tension working its way into his gut and sapping it of heat, had returned with the stink. Their conversation fell flat in the still air. No breeze blew. The sun burned high overhead. Despite the heat, Marcus felt a chill ripple through him. Was he just being paranoid? He looked over at Ed, who was looking around anxiously. Did Ed pick up on the subtle apprehension, too, or was Marcus's own fear just infecting his friend? Ed _was_ prone to flights of fancy and rash decisions from time to time...

"Where the hell is that _coming from_?" Ed moaned. "Let's get out of here."

"Yeah," Marcus replied uneasily.

They began to move forward. Then they stopped once more, making it only five paces. The smell was getting worse. Marcus looked around. To his left was the lake and a small dock. Someone had stored a handful of bright blue canoes in a small gazebo-like storage area. Their plastic noses peeked out from beneath a dull gray canvas, tied down with rope. Behind them and slanting off to the right were the woods.

Directly ahead, however, was a small rest area and the trail that led up to the ranger's station at the top of the hill. That way lie civilization. Also, apparently, a man. Marcus hadn't noticed him before, but now both he and Ed were staring at the man who sat at one of the wooden tables, facing away from them. He appeared to be wearing a tarnished, dark blue business suit.

"Who's that?" Ed muttered, more, Marcus imagined, for something to say than anything else. Ed shifted uneasily.

Marcus looked around. He heard the buzzing of flies, but could see no collection of them. Not by the trash, not at the treeline, not on the ground.

Except...

He focused and realized, with a sudden sense of revulsion, that the flies were clustered around the man seated at the table. He felt another wave of fear smash through him. Was the man dead? His hands went cold and he lost his grip on the cooler, dropping both it and the tent.

"Hey, man..." Ed complained, but his heart wasn't in it, he sounded distracted and afraid.

"Is..." Ed swallowed. "Is that guy dead?"

"I don't..."

Abruptly, the man shifted, began getting up.

"I guess not," Marcus whispered. "Could the smell be coming from him?" he asked, his voice even lower.

"I don't think so, man," Ed whispered back.

"He could be homeless..."

"There's no homeless that smells that horrible."

The man was standing now, and here, he began to turn. The fear was back, worse than ever. Marcus felt ready to bolt. Something was definitely wrong here. The man turned to face them now. He began to walk towards them, out from beneath the protection of the shelter he'd been sitting under. Marcus began to get a really good look at him as he stumbled into the sunshine. His dark blue business suit was more than tarnished, it was torn and stained with something dark. It was very stained. But that wasn't what bothered him.

It wasn't the way his skin was very, very pallid in the sunlight, or how disheveled his black hair was. It was the stuff on his face, on his hands. Something dark red stained his mouth...no, not just his mouth, but all of his lower face. And his hands, his hands were covered in the stuff that might have been red jelly.

Or...

"Hey, I don't like this," Ed murmured suddenly.

The man had definitely seen them, and he was definitely walking towards them. Worse than the stuff (blood?) smeared on his hands and face was the way he walked. It wasn't exactly limping, like he was injured, or staggering, like he was drunk. It was more the gait of a man who had forgotten how to walk and only now was the act beginning to come back to him. Then his mouth opened wide and he let loose a loud moan that carried across the still air between them.

"Holy shit," Marcus heard himself whisper.

Real terror had taken root in him now and he felt frozen with indecision. What to do? What to do? Marcus was not a violent man by nature. He'd been in exactly two fights, one in high school, one in college, and they had both been halfhearted.

"Marcus..." Ed said softly.

The man had now crossed half the distance between them.

Suddenly, Marcus felt something switch on in his head, what must have been none other than his human survival instincts.

"Ed, drop your pack and run for the ranger station," he said quickly and quietly.

"What?" Ed managed.

"Drop your pack! Go for the ranger station! _Run_!" Marcus screamed.

They both dropped their packs and took off. The man didn't look like he had anything in his hands, no knife, no gun, no weapon of any kind, but that didn't matter, because he was clearly insane. Now that he was closer, Marcus could see his eyes. There was something wrong them with, too much black, not enough color.

And...

"Run!" Marcus shouted again.

They ran across the dirt courtyard, past the wooden shelter and the tables, towards the hill and the trail that would take them to safety. He hoped. As he bolted, he couldn't stop seeing the man's eyes. It wasn't the color, or the lack thereof, that truly bothered him. It was the way the eyes caught the sun...or had they? They seemed to be glowing, actually glowing from within, the way a cat's looked sometimes in the darkness when a light was shined on them just the right way.

Up ahead, he could see more people. Three more people.

"Run!" Marcus shouted, blowing past Ed, who didn't have a gym membership. "Run! There's a psycho on the loose!" he shouted with reckless abandon.

Marcus suddenly tripped on something in the tall grass. He grunted and crashed to the ground. Ed stopped, breathing heavily, and turned to offer him a hand up. Marcus took a moment to see what the hell it was he'd tripped on.

"Oh...oh god," he moaned as he saw it.

"What the f..._oh shit_!" he cried as he laid eyes on it as well.

It was an arm. A human arm. Ragged shreds of meat and bleached white bone stuck out of the shoulder. It had been torn directly from a human body. There was even some black cloth of what must have been a t-shirt attached to it.

It lay nestled in its own little pool of old blood.

"What is happening!?" Marcus heard himself scream as he scrambled to his feet.

The man in the business suit was gaining on them, he saw as he threw a terrified glance over his shoulder. He had reached the base of the hill and was working his way up it. He was not slowing, if anything, he was gaining speed.

"Uh, Marcus..." Ed said, raw fear dripping from his voice.

Marcus swung his head around and spied the three people he'd shouted the warning to. They were no longer standing at the top of the embankment. They were coming down towards them. One of them was a skinny teenager, another two were men in oil-stained overalls with baseballs caps and flannel shirts. With a growing horror, he realized that they, too, had blood-smeared mouths and hands. Ed moaned sickly.

"They're fucking cannibals, man!" he cried wildly. "What the hell happened!? Did civilization just go _nuts _while were gone?!"

"Go! Now! My car isn't far!" Marcus replied, shoving Ed forward.

As they began wheeling left, away from both the new trio and the business man behind them, Marcus found himself thinking ridiculously of water buffalo running from a pack of lions. He heard an uneven chorus of demented sounds that only vague represented human language as they continued running up the hill, trying to avoid now four of the insane people.

Marcus made it up first. He crested the rise, his thoughts honed down to a narrow tunnel of focus: get to his car.

But then he stopped, so stupefied by what he saw before him, not one, but two fresh horrors. Ed bumped into him.

"Why'd you stop!?" he demanded.

"Look," Marcus whispered.

He pointed to the ground ahead of them. The trail connected with a blacktop road the ran to the left and right, they'd have to cross it to get to the ranger station, which was about a hundred feet away, built on a rise so that it overlooked the area.

"Oh...oh shit," Ed moaned.

It looked like a slaughterhouse truck had dropped its load on the street and the dirt around it. Thick pools of blood had gathered on the ground and the blacktop. Mixed in were pieces of what had once been people: fingers, hands, limbs, random bits of torn flesh. As visceral and disgusting as this was, the revelation that lay behind it, in the parking lot of the ranger station, was even more terrifying. Marcus heard Ed suck in a lungful of air.

"Your car!" he cried. "It's gone! They're _all_ gone!"

No escape. Behind him, the growls were getting louder, the deranged closer. In a sudden resolute gesture, Marcus turned around and faced the four insane people coming up the rise towards him. The man in the torn business suit had joined the other three and they were close now, very close. He could smell them, could smell his own, raw-edged fear.

"What are you doing!?" Ed yelled. "We need to go!"

"Wait," Marcus said simply, and stepped forward.

The nearest person, one of the men in overalls, was large, middle-aged. Perfect for what Marcus needed. Reacting fast, letting his body do the talking while his mind cowered in fear, he reached out, grabbed the man by his overall straps, yanked sharply forward, then pushed the man back with all of his strength.

Today was the day going to the gym would save his life, he decided.

The man let out a surprised grunt that still managed to sound somehow inhuman and stumbled backwards, losing his fight with gravity. He crashed into the other three, who all went flying, bowled over like ninepins. All four of them began to roll back down the hill. For a second, Marcus felt triumph shoot through him. Then he heard a branch break somewhere nearby and his head snapped around. He settled his gaze on a shifting, uncertain figure deeper in the woods to his left. And...no, not just one figure, but two, three.

He spun around, looked out over the grounds. He could see more people stumbling, lurching around at varying distances.

"Come on," Ed said, "we have to get to the ranger station."

Marcus nodded numbly. They hurried across the street, moving around the blood-soaked portion of the blacktop, and passed the dirt shoulder that separated the parking lot from the road. A waist-high brick wall served as a perimeter for the empty lot. They hopped the wall and ran across the parking lot, towards a wooden staircase and a wheelchair ramp that wound up and around to a deck that served as the main entrance for the station.

Marcus thought he could see people moving around up there, beyond the windows. What if they were more insane people? He looked closer, harder, as he began pounding up the stairs. They didn't seem insane, didn't move like the way the others did.

No time for that now.

"Hurry up!" he called.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Ed replied between heavy breaths.

Marcus came to the door and opened it up.

He froze as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.


	3. Chapter 03: The Ranger Station

"Wendell! Wait!"

Marcus's whole world had become a black hole, staring down the cold, metal barrel of a gun. It was like nothing he ever imagined. It was like looking into an open grave with his name on it. Around him, he could hear other voices, caught a peripheral of movement, but he paid it no heed. His attention was consumed by the gun.

Suddenly, it was taken away.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and a vicious shudder went through his entire body. For a second, Marcus thought his legs would give out and that he would collapse right there in the entryway to ranger station. But he put out his hands and steadied himself by gripping the door frame.

"I do apologize," someone said, the man who had first spoken. As the gunman stepped away, a new man appeared in Marcus's field of vision. "But I simply must ask you to come inside and close the door. It's not safe."

"Of...of course," Marcus said, still feeling a strange sense of dislocation. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he stepped through.

Ed followed him and closed and locked the door behind him.

"No apology necessary at all from you, my new friend," the man said.

Marcus took in the two men before him. Wendell, the gun-wielder, was not the musclebound giant Marcus had, for some reason, been expecting. He turned out to be a tall, thin man in a coat, jeans and a red beanie. He had a long face and was shaking. The other man, who was smoothing the situation over, was older. He had dirty glasses, a receding hairline and a thin frame. The man seemed more like a teacher or librarian than anything else.

"Thomas Ritter," the man who seemed to be the leader of the small group said, extending his hand. Marcus took it and shook it awkwardly.

"Uh...Marcus...Campbell. Marcus Campbell," he murmured. He felt as though his brain were a ship that had slipped its moorings and was now adrift at sea. He looked around the ranger station, taking in the damage, the destruction.

It was obvious that a lot of fighting had gone on here. Several of the windows were cracked, some of them outright broken. The furniture was overturned and, in some cases, completely demolished. There were no actual corpses in the cabin, but he could see more blood. Besides Wendell and Thomas, there were three other people. One was a pale, dark-haired, harrowed looking woman in a dark sweater and jeans. She was tending to two others, who appeared to be wounded. One was a man in an orange hunter's vest and outdoors boots, the other was a skinny man with a ponytail. They were both actively bleeding.

"Wendell is prone to frights," Thomas was saying.

"What happened?" Marcus asked finally. "What the hell is going on?"

"What's going on is that Wendell and Sheila and myself volunteered for a mission significantly more dangerous than we thought. We came up from Spencer's Mill to hunt for supplies and survivors. I didn't think it'd be this dangerous," Thomas explained.

"But...what _happened_, I mean-"

Thomas stopped looking around the cabin and looked directly at Marcus. "We're in a bad way," he said in a tense, confidential tone. "Our situation is desperate. We've already found these two and there are a lot more of the nasties up here than I had hoped. I need to defend this building, tend to the wounded so they don't die on us. At least stabilize them before we move them. I could never live with myself if I didn't conduct a more thorough search...you two seem hale and hearty. Would you please do me the favor of checking out the cabins and campsites?" he asked.

Marcus considering telling the man no, he wanted answers and he wanted them now, but he looked again at the two wounded. The woman, Sheila, was tending to them, but their wounds looked bad. With a sharp squeal, Marcus's attention was snapped to Wendell, who was pushing a large piece of furniture up against one of the broken windows.

"Okay," he said. "We'll help."

"Uh...we will?" Ed asked, sounding incredulous.

Marcus elbowed him in the ribs. "_Yes_, we will."

Ed sighed, but held his peace. Marcus had never known Ed to back down from a situation when it became difficult, but sometimes he had to be persuaded. And in this case he didn't blame him. This was beyond the pale of anything they'd dealt with before, even he didn't know if he had it in him to do whatever it was that needed doing to survive the day. But this man, Thomas, knew more about the situation than they did.

"Thank you so much. Please, come here," Thomas said, moving across the ranger station to a desk with a map of the area pinned to the wall above it. "Are you familiar with the area?" he asked.

"Somewhat," Marcus replied as he and Ed followed.

"Good. Here we are," Thomas said, pointing to the center of the map. He moved his finger around. "There's some cabins I was hoping to check out, and a public restroom. I'm not sure which of the campsites were being occupied."

"We'll figure it out," Marcus said after a moment.

"There's a water tower to the side of the building. You can climb up it and get a good, bird's eye view of the situation," Thomas said. He hesitated, then reached behind him and pulled out a black revolver. He handed it to Marcus. "Here, take this."

"Are you sure?" Marcus asked, staring at the gun for a moment before taking it.

"Yes," Thomas said, "I'm sure. But listen, don't use it unless you absolutely have to. We're talking last resort here. The Zeds are drawn to sound and when they cluster, well...you have to get pretty lucky to get out alive."

"So what _do _we use against the, uh, Zeds?" Ed asked. "Because I've seen this movie before, and the guy who tries to take on frickin' zombies with his hands ends up getting killed first, and I'm not gonna be that guy."

Thomas turned and crossed the room. He knelt down among a pile of debris and came back a moment later, sticking a two-foot length of narrow but sturdy pipe in Ed's hands. He took it and studied it for a moment, then said, "oh."

"I'll need something," Marcus said, opening up the chamber of the six-shooter and staring at the bullets within. It was fully loaded, but it was only six shots. He sighed and tucked the pistol down the back of his pants.

"Here," Thomas said after going to another portion of the room and coming back. He was holding a bright red crowbar. "This'll work wonders. It's standard movie rules," he explained, "headshots and crushed craniums are the only thing that get you any points. You _can_ kill them with body blows, but it takes a lot longer."

"Wonderful," Ed muttered.

"Thank you for this, and I hate to ask, but do you have anymore bullets?" Marcus asked.

Thomas shook his head regretfully. "No, I'm sorry. It got a bit nasty on the way up and...well, those are my last six. Use them well...which means not at all, if you can manage."

"Silence. I've got it," Marcus replied.

He hesitated for a moment further, desperately wanting to ask this man what had happened, but then he heard Sheila say, "oh God, I need some help here, he's passed out from blood loss!" He felt the press of time.

"Good luck, and thank you," Thomas said, then turned to go help.

As Marcus began to head towards the door, a sudden bang, followed by several more, made him nearly crap in his pants in surprise and fear. He saw that a pair of men in hunter's outfits were beating their bloody fists on the door, trying to get it open. They stared into the window with empty and, yes, Marcus realized, glowing eyes. Marcus crossed the room, Ed reluctantly in tow. The pair of them hefted their makeshift melee weapons.

"Get ready, man," Marcus said quietly.

"Shit, we're really going to do this, aren't we?" he muttered unhappily.

"Yep, we are actually going to do this," Marcus replied.

He reached up, unlocked the door and then shoved it open as hard as he could. Both men flew back away from the door. One of them tumbled over the edge of the deck, while the other went right back down the stairs it had climbed. Marcus heard a series of sharp snaps as the two bodies crashed into the ground. Bones, he realized after a second, it was their bones breaking. The one that had gone down the stairs had crashed into another. They were both tangled up together at the bottom of the stairs, having rolled into the parking lot.

He couldn't see the other one, who'd gone over the edge.

"Get them, Ed!" Marcus cried, feeling a sudden adrenaline rush.

He looked down at the crowbar in his hand. Was he really going to do this? He looked up, the zombies were getting to their feet. Zombies. _Zombies_. Yes, he was going to do this. Everything from their decayed skin to their glowing eyes to their blood-smeared mouths activated a bone-deep loathing in him. A visceral hatred.

He rushed forward, shouting something inarticulate, and brought the crowbar down on the top of the nearest zombie's skull. It caved in and the zombie immediately appeared to go boneless, flopping back onto the pitted, sun-bleached blacktop like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Oh man, oh man," Ed moaned, hefting his length of pipe, looking at the other zombie, who had gotten to its feet now.

"Ed-" Marcus began, wondering if he was going to have to do it for him.

At the last second, Ed raised his pipe and swung it into the thing's temple. There was a thick, awful _crunch_ that seemed to tear through the air, and the zombie was thrown to its feet. It began shifting slightly, still alive by a thread, groaning mutely. Ed ran forward, screaming, and brought the pipe down on the thing's head again.

The zombie stopped moving.

"Oh, man, Marcus, I-" Ed vomited.

Marcus fought hard to hold onto his own breakfast. He could feel the harsh chemical burn of his bile rising in his throat. Turning away, he stumbled back towards the ranger station, coming to the brick wall that severed as a perimeter for the parking lot. Beyond it and beneath the wooden deck overhead was a small garden-like area of shrubs and bushes and underbrush. Amidst the greenery, he saw the corpse of the third zombie that had gone overboard. It had, apparently, landed on its head, ending any possibility of getting back up.

"Okay...okay...I'm okay," Ed said. "I never...oh man, I never killed..." he trailed off.

"They aren't people anymore, Ed," Marcus said quietly, turning around. "You hear me?"

"I...yeah, I hear you, man. This is nuts."

Marcus came back over to Ed. Blood, bone fragments and gray matter littered the blacktop now. He didn't look down at it. Instead, he inspected the immediate area. There were no more zombies around, at least none in what might notice them. Marcus felt a tremor rip through him. He'd just killed two men. No. Zombies. They weren't men, he forced himself to think, they weren't people, not anymore. They were...things.

Monsters.

Creatures that needed to be exterminated, because their only reason for being, the entirety of their existence, was to cause pain and suffering for others. Nothing else. And if they might have been loving parents, businessmen, doctors, children, aunts or uncles before, well...he couldn't let himself think of that. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

"Come on, Ed," Marcus said quietly, putting a hand on his best friend's shoulder. Ed was still leaning over, his hands on his knees, trembling. "We need to get to the water tower."

"Yeah..." Ed said. He hawked and spat a few times, then straightened up. "Yeah, let's get to the water tower and get a...ah...view of the situation."

They began walking.


	4. Chapter 04: Campsites

The water tower was old and rusty, built into a weathered, wooden platform. Marcus eyed the black, paint-flecked ladder with unease, but began his ascension anyway. Despite his misgivings about the ladder, it held him. Still, he made Ed wait until he'd climbed onto the wooden platform. As he turned around and offered Ed a helping hand, then began climbing the second ladder that would take him to the top of the actual water tower, he was suddenly very, very glad for his exercising habits and healthy lifestyle.

Whatever was going to happen over the next few hours or days or weeks, it would very likely require a great deal of running and jumping and fighting. Marcus went to the gym five days out of the week. After work, he'd stop by for an hour and a half. He ran cardio either on the track or a treadmill, depending on his mood, and then spent half an hour lifting various weights. He was more interested in staying fit and trim than he was building muscle, and as a result, his body was long and lean, his muscles not very big, but still obvious.

Ed, on the other hand...might be a problem.

They came to the top of the water tower and looked around. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Marcus could still feel the tension of what they had just done, of what they were likely going to have to do over and over again if they wanted to survive, hanging on the air. Usually, it was Ed who made some kind of joke.

"Hey," Ed said suddenly, "you think that guy gave you the gun cause you're black?" he asked.

Marcus stopped surveying the landscape and turned to face him. He stared at Ed for a long moment, then abruptly burst out laughing.

"No, Ed," he said, grinning, "he gave me the gun because I'm still lean and mean and you're heading towards couch potato."

"Hey! I resent that," Ed replied.

Marcus reached out and patted Ed on his stomach. "Your gut doesn't."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Ed grumbled. "Doesn't make sense, anyway. If you're fit, then it's _your_ job to beat on the zombies. _I'm_ the guy should be holding the gun. Shooting a gun requires a lot less effort than beating some dead-head's skull in with a pipe."

"That's what makes guns so scary, Ed. Wonderful in a situation like this, but scary in the real world," Marcus replied. "Now, shut up and let's do our homework."

"Hate homework," Ed muttered.

Marcus felt better. Still shaky, still kind of sick, still very afraid, but he could always count on Ed to break the tension in an unhappy situation. He walked to the edge of the water tower's top and began to survey the land. The first and most unhappy fact that leaped to him was that he could see dozens of figures dotting the landscape. Far and nearby, on the road and in the woods, sunshine and shade, he could see them. None of them looked like survivors, though. They all had that awkward, shambling gait that the zombies possessed.

The environment began to give up its secrets though, as he continued his inspection. He could see a faded brick-walled public restroom tagged with some graffiti, two clusters of tents that represented the occupied campsites, a trio of cabins further on and finally he saw a small, fenced-in industrial style warehouse. But, most importantly of all, in the tiny gravel parking lot of the industrial warehouse, he saw...

"Ed, look, a truck!" Marcus said, pointing.

"Probably broken," Ed replied unhappily after a moment, "dead battery or out of gas or something. Otherwise, why would they leave it here?"

"Hey, doesn't hurt to try," Marcus replied. "Okay, look, see how everything's arranged in a kind of crescent moon shape?"

"Crescent moon?" Ed replied.

Marcus sighed. "Half circle!" he snapped. "We'll do it like that, make it quick. We'll start with the two tent sites, then we can take on that bathroom, and then, beyond that, is the cabins. After we check those, we can hit up that warehouse and the truck, then come back to the ranger's station. We can do it in like half an hour if we move fast."

"But what if-" Ed began, then shut up as they both heard distant gunshots.

Marcus frowned, staring towards where the shots had come from. Beyond the campgrounds was another steep hill and beyond that was a river that fed into the lake. "Looks like someone else made it," he said. "Okay, we check the tents first, then we go down to the river."

"You want to go _towards_ someone with a gun?" Ed asked.

"Yeah," Marcus replied, heading back to the ladder and beginning the climb down. "Of course. They might know more than we do."

"Anyone knows more than we do at this point," Ed muttered unhappily.

Marcus didn't hold up much hope for the campsites as he finished climbing down. He jumped off the ladder at the end and landed with a soft grunt. Tents would be the first things to go in some kind of emergency situation. When there were zombies around, canvas tents didn't make for good places to hide. But still, there might be some kind of useful supplies in the tents. Marcus thought about their backpacks and abandoned gear.

Would they have time to go back and get it? He wasn't sure, and even if they did, was it worth it? There wasn't much left in the way of supplies in his and Ed's backpacks. They'd pretty much used everything up on the camping trip.

As they approached the first cluster of tents, Marcus was surprised at how quickly his mind was adapting to the situation. He found himself thinking that he should be hunting for relevant things: bottled water, non-perishable food in cans or bags, medical supplies, weapons. He was going to need every edge to survive whatever this situation was. Perhaps he had read enough books, played enough video games, seen enough movies, to have prepared himself for something like this. The reality of living in a zombie apocalypse. Or maybe it was just that he was a product of his time, an era obsessed with the collapse of civilization.

It seemed to him that everyone couldn't stop fantasizing about the scenario, and yet no one ever really seemed to think it through to the end. What was the endgame? All they ever talked about was freedom and getting to kill zombies and being able to do whatever you wanted, with no cops to tell you no. But to Marcus that just sounded like wretched chaos. There'd be no one to save you when you were truly screwed over.

Despite how he felt about the whole thing, some of the culture had seeped into his subconscious. Either way, he was grateful. Despite the fact that he had settled into something of a mundane routine, and that he managed not to think about dying or any greater purpose in life all that often, Marcus found that he desperately wanted to survive. To what ends? It didn't matter. He simply wanted to keep on going.

And he'd do whatever it took to stay alive.

The first tent they came to was a big, expensive one that was nearly the size of his bedroom back in his and Ed's apartment. Both of the flaps that served as doors were unzipped and rolled up, giving easy access to the interior.

"I'll check out here for anything," Ed said, heading to a picnic table that had a cooler and a few backpacks on it.

"Got it," Marcus replied, slipping inside.

For a second, he marveled at the interior. There was an expensive blow-up mattress, a queen-sized one, with a lot of comfortable looking pillows and blankets. Across from it was a flat-screen forty inch TV and a Blu-Ray player set up on a milk crate next to it. In another corner was a mini-fridge and a microwave. The whole interior floor was covered by expensive rugs.

"_This _is camping?" Marcus muttered.

Why not just stay home? It had to be easier. He shook his head and made for the mini-fridge. Pulling it open, he stared inside. There wasn't much left, but there was something at least. Two bottles of unopened water and a couple cans of soda and beer. He ignored the beer, but began to go for the water and soda, then stopped. He had nowhere to store it. Closing the door, he stood and continued his search.

After finding nothing else of use, he joined Ed back outside, remembering the backpacks he'd seen piled on the table.

"Anything?" Marcus asked.

"Nothing," Ed replied unhappily. "If they had any guns, they took them with them. Not even a hunting knife."

"Well, shit, Ed, there's more we need than guns and knives," Marcus replied, sorting through the backpacks. He found the largest one and emptied it out onto the tabletop.

"What do you mean?" Ed replied.

"Food, water, first aid kits. We don't know how long this thing is going to last."

Ed stopped, then shook his head. "Don't be silly," he said, "I mean, something this big, the military's gotta be here. If not now, then soon, getting us out, right? I mean..._someone_ has to be doing something about this."

Marcus picked up the pack, then looked directly at Ed. "That guy back there, he wasn't a cop. He wasn't a fireman. He wasn't even a _doctor_, Ed. He obviously wasn't with the military or the government. He was like, a teacher or something. And he was up here looking for survivors. Open your eyes, Ed, we need to help each other and ourselves."

"I...you don't know that," Ed replied uncertainly.

"It's better to be prepared, now grab that pack and help me find supplies," Marcus said.

Reluctantly, Ed nodded and began emptying a second backpack. Marcus returned to the tent and gathered up the water bottles. After a moment's hesitation, he abandoned the soda. He might like it, but it would only dehydrate him, ultimately. He stood and returned to Ed, who was putting a few more water bottles salvaged from the cooler atop the table into his pack.

"I'm ready," he said, shrugging into it.

"All right, let's keep the search up."

They moved on to the next tent of three in this cluster. This one was more traditional, more conservative. It was smaller, a typical triangle tent meant for little more than sleep and maybe sex. There was a grill with a cooler and a duffelbag next to it. Marcus pointed at the tent, and Ed nodded and went for it without a word. He shifted his attention to the scattered supplies around the grill that had been built into a concrete foundation. He opened up the cooler and sighed as he looked inside. Totally empty.

He shut it and turned to the bag. Zipping it open, he rooted around inside, finding mostly clothes. But, as he hunted, he felt something small and hard. He grabbed it and pulled it out, then grinned. Advil. He shook the bottle and listened, it seemed to be about half-full. He pulled out a black t-shirt from the duffelbag that he might need someday and wrapped it around the pill bottle, muffling any possible sound, and slipped the rolled up shirt into the bottom of his backpack. He finished searching the bag, then straightened up.

"Nothing," Ed said unhappily as he emerged from the tent.

Marcus sighed and they pressed on to the next tent in this campsite. They finished searching it, finding nothing of use, and moved on to the second cluster of tents. As soon as they began approaching it, both men froze. A pair of zombies were wandering around in between the tents. While Marcus was deciding how to handle this, they both took notice of the men, let out low groans and began to come towards them, arms outstretched.

"Shit," Ed whispered.

"Batter up," Marcus replied, hefting his crowbar.

One of the zombies was a teenager girl in a battered dress, her hair in a ragged ponytail. The other was a local in a vest with no shirt on beneath it and torn jeans. Ed was hesitating, so Marcus moved to take the girl, since he knew it would be the more difficult of the two to dispatch...psychologically speaking. He raised the crowbar and brought it down onto the girl's head. Her skull broke open with a sharp crack and she collapsed to the ground.

Ed stepped up and swung from the heel, hitting the outdoorsman so hard in the head that his face twisted around, his neck broken.

"God," Ed moaned.

"Yeah, I know, come on," Marcus replied.

There were no more zombies in the immediate area. They hastily searched the tents, finding not much else of use beyond a few more bottles of water. As they were finishing up, they heard more gunshots, seven more in rapid succession. They were much closer now. Marcus and Ed ran away from the campsites, towards the river. They crested the rise that offered a view of the river some thirty feet below. A few trails switch-backed across each other, leading down. Marcus saw someone running across the river.

And nearly a dozen zombies were following them.

"Come on!" Marcus said. "We've got to get down there!"


	5. Chapter 05: Maya

Marcus skidded down the steep embankments, ignoring the trails that would lead him more safely down to the river's edge. He could hear Ed complaining behind him. Marcus hit the first trail and dashed across it, moving to the next embankment, looking down at the river. The survivor was almost across the river now, and there were more zombies following them. He had to hurry. He began descending the next steep hill, grabbing on the occasional tree that for support. At the end of this one, the last one, he tripped and canted sharply forward.

He grunted, then groaned as he hit the final path, the rocks and dirt tearing at his palms. He picked himself up off the ground as Ed joined him.

"Yeah, _I'm _the out-of-shape one," he said, helping Marcus up.

"Oh, shut it," Marcus groaned.

The pair ran the rest of the way down the path. The survivor, he saw it was a thin woman with dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail. She was holding a pistol. Now she had finished crossing the river, which he realized was really more of a creek and less of an actual river, and turned to face her pursuers.

"Make sure none of them get too close, Ed!" Marcus called, pulling his pistol out.

The woman turned back to look at them briefly, then returned her attention to the zombies. Marcus looked down at the gun in his hand. After college, he'd finally decided he should buy a pistol for home protection. He went out and did the whole song and dance, getting his license, waiting for it to arrive, then going out and buying a gun. He picked up a nine millimeter gun that seemed steady enough and some ammo for it. He'd then taken it down to the local gun range about twice a week for a month, banging through a few hundred rounds.

When the thrill of actually firing a gun had worn off, he'd put it in a shoebox beneath his bed and there it stayed to this day. But during that month, he'd discovered that he was actually a pretty good shot, and had only gotten better with the practice. Now he was going to have to rely on his steady hands to save his life.

A gunshot went off. "You gonna use that thing!?" the woman snapped.

Marcus raised the gun. He didn't want to use up his only six bullets and possibly draw the attention of others, but it looked like he was committed to the situation. He counted off a baker's dozen splashing across the river towards them. Taking aim, he saw the woman had a black and silver pistol. She held it with both hands and fired again, putting a shot directly into the forehead of the lead zombie, which dropped to the ground, tripping up a few of the others.

Marcus took aim, zeroing his sights on another outdoorsman in a hunting vest and work boots. He squeezed the trigger. A split second later the creature's right eye exploded in a plume of dark red gore. He let out a small laugh, then made himself focus. The zombies were getting closer. He ended up using every last one of his bullets putting down the creatures, as a few other stragglers ended up joining the undead crusade to cross the river.

When it was done, the last body falling in a splash that sounded suddenly loud, the woman abruptly turned and pointed the pistol at Marcus, taking a step back so that she had both him and Ed in front of her.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked.

"Just...just to help," Marcus managed, his heart hammering in his chest harder than ever at this new and abrupt development.

The woman seemed to consider this for a moment, then lowered her pistol. "Okay, fine. My name's Maya." She took a deep breath and let it out.

Marcus studied her. She was young, had to be around his age, but she seemed older somehow, more composed, mature. She had Hispanic features and was dressed in an army camouflage jacket with tight, black yoga pants and tightly laced combat boots. She extracted the magazine from her pistol, fished out a handful of bullets from one of the pockets in her vest and began feeding them one by one into the magazine.

"Marcus Campbell," Marcus said.

"Ed," Ed said simply. "Uh...are you okay?" he asked.

"Other than the fact that my two best friends are dead and a bunch of insane people are trying to eat me? Fine, I'm just fine," Maya replied, slamming the magazine back into the pistol. She turned and began walking away, towards the paths that led back up to the campgrounds.

Marcus and Ed began to follow her. "What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"I was out here hunting with a few guys from my unit. Colton and Strand. We've been out here for almost two weeks now, camping in the deep woods. We got jumped on the way back. These psychofucks tore my friends apart. I've been running and gunning ever since."

"Your unit? You in the Marines?" Ed asked.

Maya stopped for a minute, part of the way up the first trail. She turned to face them, rolling her eyes. "Army," she said. After a moment, she holstered hers pistol.

"My turn. What the fuck is going on here? What's the sit-rep?" she asked.

"It's not good. We pretty much just stumbled out of the woods an hour ago, too. We found five survivors up in the ranger station, but two of them are badly wounded. They didn't really tell us anything, they asked us to check out the park, see if there was anyone else alive. We'd just got through the campsites when we saw you," Marcus explained.

Maya stared at them for a moment. "And no one knows how far this thing has spread? How it got started?" she asked.

"I know for sure it's at least in Spencer's Mill, because that's where some of the survivors came from. They were coming up here to look for others. I'd guess that it's spread across the whole valley and we're on our own," Marcus replied.

"What makes you think that?" Maya asked.

"Because the guy up here looking for survivors isn't official. There aren't even cops handling this thing," Marcus replied.

Maya frowned, then nodded. "Okay, so we finish searching the area. That can't take too long if we're quick about it. Come on."

She turned and continued walking up the path. Marcus and Ed followed. Marcus found himself immensely relieved to have her there. Maya seemed immensely capable and an incredible shot on top of that. Even if, like them, she was making it up as she went along, having like someone her along would vastly increase their chances for survival. At least, he hoped so. As they wound their way back up the trail, Marcus began studying Maya. Particularly her backside. She was wearing some very tight pants that showed off every curve.

He blinked and made himself focus, but it seemed difficult. Which didn't make any sense. He was in literally a life or death situation, why the hell would his brain suddenly suffer a lapse in logic and divert critical thinking towards focusing on some woman's ass? Even if it was a particularly nice, tight, well-formed ass. He wanted some cold water to splash on his face. Maybe it was just the situation. He remembered thinking that his brain was now like a boat adrift at sea, which was probably an apt description.

It meant that his thoughts were open to any sudden wave that came up and pushed them in another direction. It had been a while since Marcus had been with a girl. His last relationship had ended painfully six months ago and he hadn't really felt like dating since then. But now that zombies were up for grabs, he supposed his mind was free to wander anywhere. As they came back up to the campgrounds, Marcus honed his focus.

Another zombie had wandered over during their time down by the river.

Maya raised her pistol.

"Wait!" Marcus whispered harshly.

"What?" she asked, not lowering the pistol.

"Noise draws them. Gunshots are pretty damned loud. I heard you all the way from over by the ranger's station."

Maya sighed and lowered her pistol. "Then what do you suggest?"

Marcus raised his crowbar, Ed his pipe. She stared at them for a moment, then smirked. She stepped back and motioned towards the approaching zombie.

"Be my guest."

"Uh, you sure you don't wanna?" Marcus replied, offering the crowbar to her.

"Nope."

Marcus sighed and moved towards the zombie. He hefted the weapon, gripped it with two hands like a baseball bat. Maybe a bat would be better. No, it'd probably break pretty quick. Marcus stopped moving, not wanting to be in motion for his swing. The zombie came to him. When it was within arm's reach, he swung.

Maybe it was the adrenaline or even the fear, but Marcus swung much harder than he had to. The crowbar connected with the zombie's skull and sent it spinning. Bits of bone and a lot of blood flew out in a visceral spray, staining the ground. The zombie crashed to the dirt, issuing no more movements, no sound.

"Damn," Maya said, walking over and staring at the head. "Look at that dent."

Marcus didn't want to. He was surprised at how well he was reacting to the whole killing people thing. Only they weren't people. He kept telling himself that. They weren't people, they were monsters. Mindless, hungry monsters.

But he knew he was likely headed for some kind of crash. He was in emotional shock right now. His brain wasn't allowing him to process the horror of what he was doing, because it knew that if it did, he would simply sit down and cry.

And that would get him killed.

"Come on, let's get that bathroom checked out," Maya said, making for the brick building.

Marcus lingered briefly, staring the body he'd produced.

Ed walked over, put a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah...I...yeah, come on," Marcus managed.

He turned and began walking. Ed kept pace with him. They watched Maya walking ahead of them. Marcus gripped the crowbar more firmly, telling himself he _had_ to get through this, he _had_ to carry on. There was no other choice.

They reached the bathroom and began the hunt. They split up. Maya took the girl's room and Marcus and Ed the boy's. Marcus found that funny, in some small way. He pushed the door open, melee weapon ready for action. The bathroom was dark and smelled awful. After waiting a full five seconds and hearing nothing, the pair went inside.

Ed propped the door open because all the lights had died. Marcus looked around the men's room in the thin gray light. The tiled floor was filthy with dirt and grime. The walls were gritty and worn down from time. The mirrors were cracked and stained. Everything in this place spoke of decay and abandonment.

"Come on," Marcus murmured. "Let's check the stalls."

They moved deeper into the room. There were a pair of stalls built into the wall along one side, another trio occupying the other. They split up. Marcus pushed open the first door, saw nothing. He repeated the process, again found nothing.

"Oh, _God_," Ed moaned suddenly.

Marcus turned. Ed was standing in front of the middle stall across the room, the door open. His body blocked the view. Marcus approached, but stopped briefly. The awful smell that was lingering on the air was worse than ever.

"Ed, is it..."

"Yeah. Dead guy," Ed muttered. He stepped aside.

Marcus caught sight of a man seated on the toilet, his wrists slit, a straight-razor clutched in his pale right hand.

"Jesus," Marcus whispered. He reached up and closed the door, unsure of why he did. Maybe out of respect for the dead.

They checked the last stall and found it vacant. The pair left the bathroom, coming back out into the sunlight and the semi-fresh air. Marcus opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as they heard a muffled gunshot.

Then another. Then two more.

"Maya," Marcus said.

They began running.


	6. Chapter 06: A Bit of Luck

Marcus and Ed raced around the building, keeping an eye out for any other zombies that might be getting nearby, but didn't encounter any. They ran around the wall that enclosed the entrance to the women's restroom. The door was closed almost all the way, a mere crack remaining. Marcus crashed through it with his shoulder, stumbling into the room, Ed behind him, breathing heavily. They both brandished their weapons.

Maya was standing in the middle of the tiled room over a pair of corpses, pistol in hand. She spun around, raising the pistol, then stopped. A look of anger flashed across her face as she lowered the black and silver gun.

"What the fuck are you guys doing?!" she snapped.

"I thought..." Ed began.

"We heard gunshots," Marcus replied.

"Well, yeah. There were a few of the jerkoffs in here. I was inside a building with almost no windows and a closed door, so I figured the sound wouldn't bring any of the others running, so I put them down. It's not like I've got a melee weapon on hand," Maya replied. Her gaze drifted from Marcus to Ed, then back to Marcus, and suddenly she smirked.

"Were you coming to rescue me?" she asked. Before either of them could say anything, her smirk disappeared and her expression became hard. "Because I don't need it."

Marcus sighed quietly. "Fine, let's just get the job done."

Maya seemed to find that assessment adequate. Marcus pushed the door open all the way to let some light in and told Ed to stand guard. Together, he and Maya searched the women's restroom. There didn't seem to be anything of value hidden amongst the stalls or on the two bodies that Maya had produced. They left the bathroom.

"Now what, move on?" Ed asked.

"No, I saw a door at the back of the building when we were coming in," Marcus replied as they headed out of the enclosed area. "Probably some kind of maintenance area or something, might be something useful in there."

"Fine then, let's go," Maya replied.

They made their way around the back of the building. Marcus glanced up at the sun. He was startled to see how far it had traveled since his time by the lake. He wondered what time it was. That thought sparked another and he fished his phone out of his pocket. It was off, so it should still have a lot of power left. Marcus booted it up, suddenly very excited, then his hopes fell. Who the hell was he going to call, even if he could get a signal?

Either way, the phone booted up. There was, indeed, no signal. But time told him it was now past seven o'clock in the afternoon. In another couple of hours it would be dark. He sighed and replaced the phone after turning it back off.

Ahead of him, he heard Maya grunt angrily. He looked up to see her at the back door.

"Locked," she said, then, before either of them could reply, she abruptly bashed against the door with her shoulder. She grunted and it popped slightly out of its frame. Twice more and the door flew inwards, slamming against the interior wall.

Marcus winced at the noise, but no zombies came running at the sound. Once again, Ed stood outside while Marcus and Maya went within to inspect. There wasn't much inside the dimly-lit room. A battered metal shelf, a big red toolbox on the ground, a desk and uncomfortable foldout chair. The desktop was scattered with all manner of paperwork, magazines, pencils, empty coffee cups. While Maya went over to the toolbox, Marcus found himself staring at the desk, trying to imagine having a job that required him to spend most or even some of his day in a back maintenance room in a public restroom facility.

"Ah-ha!" Maya said suddenly, standing up.

Marcus glanced over. She hefted a big, silver hammer.

"What do you think?" she asked.

Marcus considered it for a moment. She had her pistol holstered, and it took him a second to realize it, but she had an actual holster. "Might get stuck," he said finally.

Maya frowned, assimilating this information, then turned around and crouched back down. He found his eyes involuntarily drawn to her ass and the way her pants were so tight as to be practically non-existent. He averted his gaze, feeling strange. Twenty six years and still he wasn't sure about the social protocol for checking out women. Sometimes they seemed pleased at the attention, sometimes angry, sometimes embarrassed.

Maya stood back up, hefting a big, red wrench now. "Well?" she asked.

"Looks like it could do some damage," Marcus replied.

"Good, anything in the desk?" she asked, moving over to the shelves.

Marcus replied by going over to the desk and opening the drawers. After a few moments, both of them had come up empty and headed back outside to join Ed.

"All that's left are those cabins, right?" Maya asked as they came around from behind the bathroom. She stared at the trio of cabins across the way, nestled at the forest's edge. They seemed silent and inert, ominous tombs.

"Yeah," Marcus replied, setting off across the dirt and grass.

Maya and Ed followed. Each cabin was a small, single-story structure, coming complete with their own little lawn, picnic table and BBQ stand. There were no zombies around, at least in the immediate area. Occasionally, they all heard the distant, echoing moan of a dead-headed creature. Marcus found the noise terrifying.

They came to stand before the trio of cabins. "Split up or stick together?" Maya asked.

"We should stick together," Marcus replied.

"All right, but let's hurry up, I don't need to spend the night out here," Maya said.

With that chilling notion in mind, the trio crossed the lawn to the first cabin. Marcus went first, opening the door and stepping inside. He was alone. The main room tripled as a living room, bedroom and kitchen. There were only two doors. The place was a mess. The bed was a bloody wreck, the blankets and sheets shredded. The refrigerator hung open and empty. A bloody hand-print was smeared on the far wall.

The trio split up, searching any likely areas. Marcus moved to the two doors at the back of the room. The first led to a small closet with a dresser at the back. Nothing of any use there. The second was a bathroom, also empty.

With a heavy sigh, he returned to the main area and helped the others finish the search. After five more minutes, the trio left the first cabin and moved onto the second one empty-handed. A feeling of discouragement began to settle over them as they searched the next two and turned up nothing more than a backpack for Maya. She shrugged into the empty pack, seeming frustrated at the lack of supplies they'd turned up.

The final building was the fenced-in industrial warehouse with the truck. Marcus hoped it was still there. A part of him felt that he must have imagined the damn thing, that they weren't getting out of here, they'd always be stuck up on Mount Tanner.

They crossed the distance between the cabins and the warehouse. As they approached, Marcus threw a glance up at the ranger station, perched up high like some kind of monolithic overseer. He couldn't see anyone moving around inside but, then again, he was too far away to really make out any kind of details and the sun was reflecting off of most of the glass anyway. He was eager to get back, find out what was going on.

A small, discordant symphony of moans and groans issued from behind the weather-beaten wooden fence that surrounded the gravel pit parking lot of the warehouse. Through the wooden planks, Marcus glimpsed a handful of undead horrors waiting for them. He glanced at the others, hefted his crowbar. Both Ed and Maya did the same.

"Quick and quiet," Maya said.

Marcus and Ed nodded. They came to the edge of the fence, waited a few seconds, then, on some unspoken signal, rushed into the lot. Marcus counted around half a dozen of the things milling about the lot. He rushed the nearest one, a twenty-something man in jeans and a t-shirt, raised the crowbar and brought it down with a sickening crack on his head. The man dropped immediately, and the others began stumbling towards them.

Marcus, Ed and Maya made quick work of the zombies, swinging and smashing as they came to them. Blood, brains and bone fragments sprayed the graveled ground. Marcus felt sickness rising up in him once more, but pushed it back down with fierce determination. No time for weakness, no time for anything but getting the job done.

As the last zombie fell, Maya marched over to what might be the only vehicle left on Mount Tanner. It was a battered old blue pick-up from the previous decade, maybe even the one before that. It was covered in dust and rust.

Ed was breathing heavily. "God, Marcus, I don't know how much longer I can keep this up," he groaned, bent forward, hands on his knees. "These things..." he trailed off.

"Stow the shit!" Maya snapped suddenly. They both looked over at her, startled. "You two go weak on me and I'm cutting your asses loose." She pointed at the warehouse. "Go check it out while I see if the truck still works."

She stared at them, her face hard and unreadable. Marcus considered the situation. What if she was sending them off to check the warehouse while she just took the truck? He considered telling her to come with them, or let him check the truck, but knew it was fruitless. Maya was a great shot, she was fast and she could likely lay him out with one punch. If she wanted the truck, she was getting it. The only way he could take it was by force, a lucky shot maybe, and there was no way he could bring himself to do that.

He wanted her to trust him, but realized that trust was a two-way street. He and Ed were going to have to start trusting her.

"Fine, come on, Ed," Marcus replied.

"But, Marcus-" Ed began.

"Come _on_, Ed," Marcus urged.

Ed sighed and turned. He and Marcus began making their way across the lot, towards the rust-eaten warehouse. Marcus opened the door. He peered cautiously within, the interior lit by the thin light still offered by the setting sun. No one and nothing waited for them within. A small hope he'd been holding onto died then. So there were no more survivors, just him and Ed and Maya and that group of people up at the cabin. Unless Maya decided to take off.

He prayed she didn't.

Ed came in behind him and shut the door.

"So, that Maya, she's something else," Ed said.

Marcus knew he wasn't referring to the heated conversation they'd just had back there. He rolled his eyes as he began hunting along a pair of shelves occupying the back wall. Ed walked up to him and helped.

"This is probably the worst time to discuss something like this," Marcus replied. "But she wears those pants _really_ well."

Ed laughed and elbowed him. "See, I knew it wasn't all doom and gloom."

"Yeah, yeah. What's the point of life if you can't laugh even once in a while? My old man always said that."

"I remember," Ed replied.

They searched in silence, not finding anything until Marcus came upon another desk, pulled open a drawer and grinned at his fortuitous discover.

"Holy shit," he whispered, reaching in and pulling out the black revolver.

"Whoa, nice," Ed said.

Marcus set it down on the desk, reached in again and pulled out a full box of bullets. He couldn't believe his luck.

"You want this?" he asked, staring at the revolver and bullets.

"No, you'd better take it. You're a better shot than I am," Ed replied.

Marcus considered it for a moment, then pulled the pistol from his belt and checked it out. The bullets he'd found fitted both his revolver and the one in the desk. He fed six more shots into his own revolver, then flipped it around and handed it to Ed, handle-first.

"There's six shots in here. Last resort. And don't shoot me on accident," Marcus said.

Ed grinned as he took it and shoved it into his own belt. "What about on purpose?"

Marcus sighed and rolled his eyes. He loaded up the revolver, snapped the chamber shut and tucked it. He considered what to do with the extra twelve bullets and finally shoved the box into his pocket. He and Ed kept searching the shed until they heard the truck outside come to life. The pair exchanged glances and hurried out the door.

Maya sat in the driver's seat, the door open, a grin on her face.

"She works just fine! Almost a full tank, battery looks good and I even found the keys," she said. Then she pulled the keys from the ignition. Stepping back out onto the gravel parking lot, she closed the door behind her and locked it.

"Anything in there?"

"Revolver and some bullets," Marcus replied.

"Good find. Now let's get back to that ranger station and get some answers."


	7. Chapter 07: Alone Again

"So what, you two were camping? Just the two of you?" Maya asked.

They were hiking back to the ranger station. The shadows were becoming long now, the sun heading toward its grave, just beyond a fiery horizon. Marcus's disappointment in finding only a single survivor showed in how little he talked, how slow his pace had gotten. Ed was silent beside him. Maya was leading the way.

"Yeah. Why? You were up here hunting with your two friends? Just the three of you?" Marcus replied. The question came out angrier than he meant it to, but he wasn't sure where he stood with Maya. He got the feeling that she might look down on him simply for not being in some kind of armed forces. He was a civilian. Both him and Ed.

"Yeah," Maya replied after a moment's hesitation. All of the scorn and teasing had gone out of her voice, making Marcus stop looking around and instead focus directly on her. Maybe she was feeling guilty for just that reason. "I wanted to get away from all the bullshit," she said. "There seems to be more and more of it around nowadays...what did you do for a living?"

"Office drones, both of us," Marcus replied.

"Why were you down here? Where are you from?"

"We both live up in Worthington. Ed's originally from here. We come down once a year for a fishing and camping trip to unwind, get away from the world," Marcus replied.

"Fair enough," Maya said.

They fell into another uncomfortable silence as they pressed on. Marcus checked his phone again, finding it to be past eight o'clock now. How had the time gone so quickly? He was certain that they'd be able to canvas the cabins and campsites within half an hour. Time, he supposed, really was subjective, and there was no good way to keep track of it if you didn't have some kind of instrument. He put his phone back, looking around, scanning the area of any more of the creepies. There were maybe a dozen zombies in view, wandering around, but they were all far away, not having taken notice of the three living people.

Looking up at the ranger station itself, Marcus frowned. Something seemed wrong. It was too still up there, he couldn't see anyone moving around behind the glass. What did that mean? Could they have left without them? He supposed it was possible. Trying to make himself calm down, telling himself not to panic, Marcus focused on the notion that he could get back to the nearby town if he really had to. Even if he had to walk, he knew the way there.

But then what? Find other people, he hoped, more supplies, a place to stay for the night. The night...he really didn't want to be out here in the dark.

The trio of survivors hit the blacktop and began to move across it. Glancing up again, Marcus caught sight of movement in the windows. He felt relief pour through him like a cool blue wave, but it soon turned to fear as he realized something was wrong with the way they were moving. It was too slow, too awkward, almost like...

"Shit," he heard Maya say.

"What?" Ed asked fearfully.

"I think something might have gone wrong with your friends." She hefted her wrench, and Marcus reluctantly did the same with his crowbar.

Maya took the lead, Marcus right behind her, Ed bringing up the rear as they ascended the stairwell. She reached out and cautiously pulled the door open. A low moan drifted out of the rangers station, the sound causing gooseflesh to break out all across Marcus's body. He tightened his grip on the crowbar.

"Watch our backs, Ed," he said as he followed Maya into the station.

"Got it," Ed replied.

There were three undead milling around, and several bodies on the floor. Among them, Marcus spied Wendell and the woman who had been tending to the wounded. The zombies became aware of Marcus and Maya, turned and began coming towards them. Maya brought her wrench down hard on the first zombie, a man in a vest and hiking boots with short, dark hair. His skull caved in and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Marcus realized it was his turn up to bat. He brought the crowbar around in a tight arc, sending a spray of blood and brain matter flying from the fractured cranium of the next zombie to step up to the plate, a woman in a waitress's outfit. Maya finished off the third zombie with another shark _crack_, and all was still in the cabin.

"I thought you said you had survivors up here," she whispered harshly.

"We did, there were..." Marcus murmured.

"It's all clear out here, what...oh," Ed said, trailing off as he stepped in and surveyed the horrible aftermath that befell them. "Jesus," he whispered.

"We can't stay here, that much is obvious," Maya said. She knelt and began checking the bodies. "See what you can find, some of them might have guns or bullets."

"Ed...see if you can find Thomas, he had a gun," Marcus said quietly, kneeling by the woman, Shelia had been her name, and checking her pockets.

"Yeah...okay."

Ed crossed the room, hunting through the bodies. For a long moment, nobody said anything. The cabin was filled with the sounds of rustling, of the living searching the dead that they might continue living. Finally, Ed made a small noise.

"Found Thomas," he said.

Marcus glanced over. Ed was kneeling over another body at the far side of the room. Marcus stood and began moving to join him, carefully stepping over the corpses. He was tempted to hold his breath, or at least open a window, the smell was getting bad.

"Yeah..." Ed said after a moment with his finger against the man's neck. "He's definitely dead all right...hey, he's got something in his hand, looks like a-"

Ed let out a shriek of pure fright as Thomas abruptly leaped up, wrapped both arms around Ed's torso, pulled him down and bit him in the area between his shoulder and neck. Marcus cried out in sympathetic pain as he saw Thomas come away with a mouthful of bloody skin. Ed screamed in agony, falling back onto his ass, scooting away.

Marcus ran up and cracked the late Thomas across the head, knocking him over. The thing started to get up again and he hit it twice more, hard, in rapid succession. There was a sharp snap and then Thomas was still.

"He was dead, he was _dead_!" Ed moaned, hand over his wound, which was gushing blood between his fingers. "That guy was fucking _dead_, man!"

"Okay, we get it!" Maya snapped, cautiously approaching him.

"Oh, Ed..." Marcus whispered, staring at the blood. "Christ, man, we gotta get you some first aid." He looked around frantically.

"I didn't see any," Maya said, still holding back, hovering uncertainly.

"Shit...here! Hold on!" Marcus was suddenly struck by inspiration. He shrugged out of his pack, brought it around and opened it up. Rifling through it, he pulled out a bottle of water and the t-shirt he had wrapped around the bottle of pills.

"Hold out your hand, your not bloody one," Marcus said. Ed did as Marcus rattled out four of the pills, then unscrewed the cap and passed it to Ed. "Swallow, hurry."

Ed was looking very pale and his eyes were slightly unfocused, but he did as he was told, swallowing the pills down. Replacing the pill bottle into his pack, Marcus then carefully pulled Ed's hand away from his shoulder and dumped the rest of the bottled water across it, causing Ed to cry out in pain.

"Sorry, buddy," he said quickly, then tossed the bottle aside, pressed the t-shirt against the wound and replaced Ed's hand over it. "Hold it there, we have to stop the blood."

"To what end?" Maya asked.

Marcus glanced back up at her. "What?"

"To what end? What if it's the bite that turns you?"

"Well...what if it isn't? You wanna just _give up_?" he snapped.

"God, even if it isn't, do you know how hard it is to survive a bite from a human mouth without proper care? It'll get infected..."

"You're going to fucking help us, _do you hear me_?!" Marcus screamed suddenly, fury and rage at the situation, the unfairness of being thrown into a zombie apocalypse, of losing what little help he had waiting for him, tearing through him.

Maya seemed taken aback by the sudden outburst, literally taking a step back, then she seemed to come to a decision. Nodding tightly, she said, "get him up, we're going for the truck, we're getting out of here and back down to that little town I saw coming in."

"Spencer's Mill...and thanks," Marcus said quietly after a second.

He helped Ed up and as he did, saw something dark, rectangular and important lying on the ground. Kneeling, he snatched it up and studied it for a moment. A radio, that's what Thomas had been holding before he'd tried to eat Ed, a damn radio. Marcus pocketed it for the moment. He'd try it out later, pray that someone was on the other end.

With Maya leading the way, her pistol now in hand, Marcus helped Ed down the stairs, across the blacktop and towards the waiting truck, their only way out. The sun was setting faster now, the first of the stars popping into existence, the moon rising on the far horizon. It was cooling off, the heat of the day bleeding away.

Ed was muttering quietly to himself, and Marcus thought that he was in shock, bordering on delirium. He hoped the painkillers were taking effect and that his friend wouldn't have to suffer through the worst of it. Hell, at this point, he'd settle for knowing that Ed would make it out of this alive. All around him, he saw more zombies, and now, as darkness fell, their creepy glowing eyes were that much more obvious.

They finally hit the gravel parking lot, not having to fight to get there, at least. Maya climbed into the driver's seat and Marcus shoved Ed into the middle seat, buckled him him, then closed the door and buckled himself in. As Maya keyed the ignition, abruptly, the radio in his pocket jolted to life in a squeal of static and a muffled voice.

Maya stared over at him and he stared back. He pulled out the radio and looked down at it for a second, as though it was some artifact he'd never seen before.

A young woman's voice came out. _"Dad? Dad are you there? Can you hear me?"_

"Oh _shit_," Maya groaned.

Marcus swallowed and licked his dry lips, then brought the radio up. "Uh...hello?"

A pause. _"Who's this?"_

"My name is Marcus. My friends and I are up on Mount Tanner, we're getting ready to leave, but my friend has been attacked...can you help us?"

Another pause. _"Can you make it down to Spencer's Mill?"_

"Yeah, we can."

"_My name's Lily. Some of us are holed up at the Church of the Ascension, you know where that is?"_ she asked.

"Yeah," Marcus replied, remembering the way there.

"_Good. Get down here as quick as you can, if your friend doesn't look too dicey, then maybe we can work out some kind of deal."_

"Work out a deal? We're in _trouble_, there are fucking _zombies_ everywhere, what do you mean a deal?!" Marcus replied, his voice rising.

"_I...it's not that simple, not anymore. Look, just get to the church and we'll talk, okay?"_

Marcus sighed. "Yeah, okay."

He replaced the radio in his pocket.

"Fantastic," Maya said as she started up the engine. Marcus didn't say anything, instead opting to sit back and wait for the ride to be over. They pulled out of the gravel parking lot and onto the road, making their way away from the mountain, away from the slaughterhouse that had once been known as a rangers station.

Spencer's Mill. It was the smallest of the three town in Trumbull Valley. There would be a lot to do when they got down there, he imagined. A million thoughts raced through his head, wondering about how far it had spread, who might of survived, how _he_ was going to survive this chaos. However, all thoughts abruptly ceased.

Maya slammed on the brakes.

The bridge that ran over the river, that connected Mount Tanner to the rest of civilization, had been destroyed.

They weren't driving out of here.


	8. Chapter 08: Take Shelter

Darkness was definitely coming now. Obviously he'd been wrong about the sunset. How could he forget something so mundane? Marcus found these thoughts and more racing through his head as he sat in the passenger's seat of a beat up old pickup and stared at a ruined bridge. The only way out of this godforsaken nightmare. The only way off of Mount Tanner. Maya was sitting quietly next to him, Ed still in the backseat, as silent as ever.

"You okay back there, Ed?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Yeah," Ed murmured. "I'm doing just fine, pal."

"Obviously, we'll have to climb down," Maya said suddenly, killing the engine and stepping out of the truck.

Marcus began to get out as well, realizing that she was right, but then he noticed something: she'd left the keys in the ignition. "You aren't going to take these?" he asked.

"No. Won't do us any good. Might do something else some good," Maya replied.

Marcus sighed. "Well, you gotta take them out of the ignition. Leaving them in there will run the battery dead," he said, pulling them out and putting them on the dashboard.

"Oh...yeah, I guess you're right," she murmured, her self-possession briefly misplaced. She seemed to straighten up a bit, pulled out her pistol. "Come on."

Marcus turned and helped Ed out of the back of the truck. He checked the makeshift compress he'd made over the wound and frowned at how much blood was there. What could be done? They had to get to the church, get Ed into a bed of some sort. All this moving around couldn't be good. Marcus glanced towards the bridge and saw that Maya was already ahead of them, moving over to the right side of the bridge. Worrying that she'd leave them behind, he set off, looking back over his shoulder to make sure his friend was keeping up with him.

Ed still seemed to have decent mobility, but he was quiet and seemed a little distant. Blood loss and shock, probably. This was no place for a man in his condition, but again, what choice did they have? By the time the pair caught up with Maya, she had discovered something.

"Look," she said, crouching, pointing. "A ladder. We can climb down, cross the creek and climb back up. Shouldn't take more than ten minutes."

She went first. Marcus watched her narrow face disappear from view, then went down after her. As soon as he was a little ways down, Ed joined them. The trio made their way down the old, rusty ladder that had been lashed onto the side of a cliff face with bolts and determination. Marcus wondered how old it was, what the chances of it falling were, when was the last time it had been serviced...not exactly great thoughts at the moment.

He heard a small sound from below and glanced down. Maya had stepped off the ladder, and she was staring at something, not moving...Marcus followed her gaze and, for a second, was frozen in place with sheer terror. Then Ed stepped on his hand.

"Ow!" he whispered harshly.

"Why'd you stop?!" Ed replied.

"Shut up!" Marcus snapped. "Ed, look, down the creek..."

Ed stopped moving, shut up and he saw. Further down the creek, maybe fifty feet away, were a cluster of zombies, about a dozen or so. They were walking away, grouped together, moaning and groaning in a gentle chorus. Marcus finished climbing down as quickly and quietly as he could, and came to stand next to Maya.

"Why are they grouped together like that?" she whispered.

"Herd mentality? Echoes of their former lives?" Marcus murmured in reply. "Either way, what does it matter? Let's go in the opposite direction?"

Maya shook her head and pointed. "No, look."

Another ladder had been lashed to the nearest rock face on the opposite side. Unfortunately, the nearest flat rock face was about thirty feet away...in the direction of the zombies. Ed finished with the ladder and was brought up to speed on the situation by way of Marcus pointing. It took Ed a minute to figure it out in the dying light, but he let out a low groan of frustration and fear.

"Come on," Maya whispered. "We'll do this quietly. We'll head down the bank on our side, then cross when we get to the ladder. Got it?"

Both men responded affirmatively. They made their way quickly and quietly down the riverbank, trying to compromise between keeping a distance from the zombie collection and moving quickly. Within a minute, they were parallel with the ladder. Maya threw a quick, worried glance at the zombies, then began crossing. Marcus and Ed moved after her. The water was cold but only ankle-deep. They'd made it halfway across when Ed suddenly slipped.

"Shit!" he shouted, collapsing into the water, splashing around.

"Dammit, you moron!" Maya shouted.

A general roar went up from the zombies as they became aware of the others' presence.

"I'm sorry!" Ed cried as Marcus pulled him up. "I was bitten by a goddamned zombie!"

"_Run_!" Marcus screamed.

The zombies were coming for them now, roaring and screaming, splashing through the water. Maya hit the ladder first and scrambled up it faster than Marcus thought possible. He shoved Ed up after him and as soon as there was room, he began climbing up, too. He glanced back down at the zombies. The closest ones were within ten feet.

"Hurry!" Marcus called.

Looking back up, he saw that Maya was already gone and Ed was disappearing over the top. Good, they were almost there. Besides, what did he have to worry about? Zombies didn't know how to climb or-_clang!_ Marcus cried out as reverberations shook up through the ladder. He looked back down and cried out again.

The first zombie had reached the ladder...

_And it was climbing up it!_

"Help!" he called.

Maya reappeared over the edge, staring down at him, then past him. "Hold still!" she called. He froze as she pulled out her pistol and pointed it right at him.

"Wait!"

She pulled the trigger. There was a brilliant flash and a powerful explosion of sound that rendered him nearly deaf for the moment. Then she was shouting, "move your ass!" at him and he was doing just that. He moved as quickly as caution would allow, terrified of losing his grip and falling off into a pile of zombies that would rip him to shreds while, simultaneously, eating him. Somehow, he managed to make it up over the top.

"Come on!" Maya snapped, helping him to his feet and shoving him forward. They were in a field in between the road to the left, leading away from the bridge, and a sparse forest to the right. There were zombies in the forest. Ed grunted as, presumably, Maya shoved him, too. Marcus didn't know for sure because he was too busy running.

There was a car on the road.

It was dark and immobile, abandoned most likely. Marcus prayed that it wasn't out of gas or had a dead battery or flat tire. Behind him, there was growling, a lot of it. Maya shouted at him to go faster, and then she ran past him. She was in _good_ shape. He picked up the speed, then glanced back at Ed, who was lagging behind.

And the zombies were getting closer.

Of course, these were the running kind. He heard a car door open and look forward again. Maya had reached the car and was in the driver's seat. He saw her frantically searching for keys. Marcus felt the gun that was tucked into his waistband. He reached the road, stopped, turned and pulled out the pistol. Time to put that shooting practice to use.

"Get to the car, Ed!" he shouted.

"Marcus, no-"

"_Now, Ed_!"

Ed hesitated a second longer, then ran on to join Maya at the car. Marcus took aim and fired. The nearest zombie's head exploded in a plume of dark gore and it collapsed immediately. He shifted his aim, fired again, and missed. Cursing, he forced himself to focus and fired a third time. Then a fourth, fifth and sixth. All of those following shots were hits, and four more zombies went to the ground. Out of bullets.

The car engine kicked to life.

"Come on, Marcus!" Maya called.

Marcus turned and sprinted across the road, getting into the front passenger seat of a red, four-door station wagon. Maya already had the headlights on. Even before he could finish closing the door, she threw it into drive and took off, speeding down the road.

"Slow-slow down," Marcus said, his hands trembling from adrenaline. "We don't need to get in a wreck after all that."

"Uh, yeah," Maya replied, braking slightly, bringing their speed towards something reasonable.

"How you doing, Ed?" Marcus asked, fumbling with revolver until he got it open and emptied the spent brass into his lap. He brushed it aside, onto the seat and the floor, reached into his pocket and began reloading the gun.

"Tired...out of it," Ed replied. "Spent, man. Think I need a nap."

"Fine. You relax. We'll get you there safe," Marcus said.

"We hope," Maya muttered.

Marcus finished reloading the gun in silence, twice dropping bullets and wasting several moments recovering them. Maya navigated the lonely road that curved and twisted through the countryside, making her way towards Spencer's Mill. Marcus finished reloading the gun and set it in between his feet, unwilling to hold onto it but also unwilling to slip it back into his waistband while he was sitting. He'd need to find a holster.

As they kept driving, weaving their way around wrecked or stalled cars, passing clumps or isolated pockets of zombies, Marcus suddenly found the silence unbearable.

"Where are you from?" he asked quietly, hearing Ed's soft snores.

"Uh...Missouri. Kansas City," Maya replied, seeming distracted, like she'd been deep in thought.

"Why'd you join the army?"

"What is this, twenty questions?" Maya snapped, her voice hard-edged again. She sighed after a minute. "Sorry, this is all just...stressful. I, uh, joined because, well...I don't know. I guess I was good at the things you needed to be good at to succeed in the army. I wasn't good at anything, like, creative. I could've made it through high school with my eyes closed. Practically did. I went on to community college but it was just more of the same...slackers and easy classes, jocks and assholes only interested in what was between my legs. I swear god, if I hear 'treat her like shit and she'll put out easy' one more time someone's going to swallow a bullet...

"So, I dropped out, joined the army."

"That must've been crazy," Marcus murmured.

"Yeah, it was. Got shipped off to Afghanistan. Lots of shooting, lots of psychotic assholes willing to strap on a bomb and die...or willing to convince a kid to do the same. Jesus. You want to talk about true evil in the world..."

Suddenly, a zombie stumbled out in front of the car. No time to swerve, but Maya did just a little, so that the car hit the poor bastard in such a way that it wouldn't fly up over the hood and smash the windshield. Even so, blood splashed all over the glass.

"You gonna hit the wipers?" Marcus asked after a moment.

"No, that just makes it worse. I can still see."

"How do you know it makes it worse?"

Maya snorted. "I told you, I was in the army."

Marcus fell silent. They came to a tunnel that was choked with a snarl of wrecked, burned cars. For a moment, Marcus thought they were screwed, but Maya found a way through. Now that things were quiet, he had a moment to think. What would they do once they got to the church? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed that civilization was gone.

It was every man for himself.

Part of him refused to believe this, another part argued that it was stupid not to. They finally compromised and agreed that civilization within the valley itself was probably gone, but it was entirely possible that it could be gone or totally fine beyond the valley. Either way, he supposed, it didn't matter. He had to survive, and that would (hopefully) be easier with more people. What was waiting for him in the next few days?

Marcus could come up with nothing pleasant, so he decided to stop speculating. Instead, he opted to stare out the window until they reached the church. Maya parked in the dirt lot between a truck and a jeep. Marcus glanced up and saw something interesting: a cement block wall that surrounded the church was topped by barbed wire.

"Huh, they've really set up shop here," Maya said quietly.

They killed the engine and stepped out, moving along the dirt parking lot until they came to a black iron fence. A makeshift watchtower sat within the wall, made of little more that forty gallon drums and wood. A girl and an older man stood just beyond the fence. Maya, Marcus and Ed stood and waited, listening to them argue.

"You're worse than your idiot brother! Who the hell said we can take on more people!?" the older man snapped. He was dressed in a ranger's uniform and his voice reminded Marcus of R. Lee Ermey, the insane drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket.

"You're not in charge, Alan! This is a _community_!" the teenager girl, Lily, Marcus realized, recognizing her voice, shouted back.

"And there wouldn't be any goddamned community without me!...whatever, do what you want," he said. He threw a dark gaze towards the three of them, sneered and then turned and stomped off.

Lily came over and opened the gate. She stared at the three of them for a moment, then smiled and stepped back.

"Welcome to the Church of the Ascension."


	9. Chapter 09: Refuge

Lily turned out to be a short, pale brunette of maybe eighteen. She wore a blue jacket and jeans with work boots and though her face was friendly, her expression was also guarded. She seemed to look the three of them over, her gaze lingering on Ed, who wasn't looking too good.

"The first thing I've got to know...does the bite turn a man?" Marcus asked.

Lily shook her head. "No, it doesn't."

"Oh, thank God," Ed muttered.

"Okay then, first things first, we need to get Ed some medical help and a place to lie down."

"I can help with that," a new voice declared.

Marcus glanced over and saw a portly, balding man in his fifties with a broad, open, friendly face limping over. He wore religious clothing and Marcus realized he must be affiliated with the church. He came to stand next to Lily.

"I heard about your situation from Lily, son. If you'd like, I have a place for you to rest and some medical supplies. Not much, I'm afraid, but I'd like to help. I'm William Mulroney, I'm a Pastor here at the church."

"Thank you," Ed said, moving towards him. "I'd love to lie down."

"Come with me, son."

Marcus watched Ed follow William towards a gazebo to the left, in between the cinder-block wall and the church. He supposed it would have to do for now. Returning his attention to Lily, he was determined to get some answers.

"I need to know what happened. How did we go from civilized to post-apocalyptic in two weeks?" he asked.

"I'd like to know that myself," Maya added.

Lily stared at them silently for a moment, a look of incredulous surprise on her face. "You mean you don't know? Either of you? You _really_ don't know about all this?"

"No, we've been in the woods on vacation. We just stumbled out today into this mess," Marcus replied.

Lily sighed. "Okay...come with me. I might as well give you the nickle tour and tell you what's going on since I'm obviously not going to throw you out...at least not for the night."

"Gee, thanks," Marcus muttered.

"That's the watchtower," Lily said before going anywhere, pointing to the tower of forty gallon drums and wooden planks that had been assembled in one corner of the walled-in yard. It didn't look very stable. It was positioned right next to the gate they'd come in through. "Besides that and the gazebo, everything else is inside the church. Come on."

She led them across the courtyard towards the front entrance of the building. There were no lights on, no soft hum of power. Besides the whispering of the winds, the occasional distant groan and the soft, comforting tones of the Pastor speaking to Ed, there were no sounds. It was full dark now, the stars twinkling overhead, as brilliant as could be. Marcus stared up at them briefly as he walked. It was difficult to see them so clearly in the city, but this celestial clarity was something he always associated with vacations.

Lily led them up the cracked, cement steps and through the front door into a large, open room. Marcus could easily envision twin rows of benches pointing towards the front, where a podium was. He could see the benevolent Pastor William presiding over a small congregation, delivering a sermon. Now, the benches were stack along one wall. He saw pieces of some of them nailed over the windows. In one corner was a desk with a mess of what looked to be radio equipment scattered across the top, a battered, old foldout chair pushed under it.

In the opposite corner was a large, battered, old metal gun locker, a chipped wooden shelf and another desk with several drawers. Lily stood in the center of the room, fixed them with her sharp gaze and began to give her own sermon.

"It started happening about two weeks ago, maybe a little less. People started getting sick, a _lot_ of people. And there were reports on the news. Strange stuff, random assaults, people just attacking each other for no reason..._eating_ each other. The city went into marshal law, like a lockdown, after five days. Then the national guard was here and they told us to stay in our homes after a week. Then...I don't know, everything just kind of went to hell. I remember calling 911 because someone was breaking into our house and no one answered.

"That was kind of the wake up call. That was about five days ago. Me, my dad, my brother and a few people we had taken into our house headed for this church. It just seemed like the place to be, I guess we thought we'd be safe here. We were...at first..." she trailed off.

Marcus became distracted by footsteps outside. He walked to the nearest window and saw the grumpy middle-aged man in the park ranger outfit was carrying a high-powered rifle, stomping across the courtyard towards the watchtower. When he reached it, he began climbing the rickety ladder. Marcus turned away from the window.

"This is sort of the base of operations," Lily said. She pointed to the radio set up Marcus had noticed. "I pretty much spend all my time on the radio. It's...really the only thing I'm any good at. I try to coordinate with other survivors, listen for calls for help or make deals...And over there, those shelves and the gun locker, that's where we keep the mish-mash of supplies you might find yourself needing if you're heading into the city."

"And why would anyone be heading into the city?" Marcus asked, staring at the supply station.

"Because we can't last forever here. We need fresh supplies," Lily replied, sounding a little frustrated.

"What's through there?" Maya asked suddenly, pointing to the only other door in the room, along the back wall. Marcus thought it strange that she was playing the diplomat, trying to avoid a verbal confrontation, but also thought she was right.

"That's the kitchen," Lily said, turning and walking towards it. The pair followed her through the open door and into a tightly-packed kitchen. A black woman wearing tan cargo pants and a shirt that said _Ask me about my Big Dick_ was sorting through cans. She wore a pistol on her hip. She glanced over as the trio entered the kitchen.

"This is Sam. She usually does the cooking around here," Lily said.

"Yeah, that's because I'm the only one who _can_ cook," Sam muttered. "These some newbies we're going to be feeding?" she asked.

"Yes, Sam. Three people came down from Mount Tanner and they'll be staying with us," Lily replied.

Sam merely shrugged, grunted and went back to sorting the cans. There were two more doors in the room, one in the right wall, one at the back. Lily led them to the right wall and showed them the final room in the church: a bedroom. It had been packed full of things, namely three pairs of bunk beds. There was just enough room for a chair, a small dresser and a nightstand. Marcus noticed another door at the back of the room, between two of the bunk beds, and caught sight of a toilet. It must have been the only bathroom in the building.

Lily led them to the final door at the back, which just led back outside, letting out not far from the gazebo.

"And that's it, that's the tour," she said. They walked to the gazebo, where William was looking at a thermometer and frowning.

"I'm afraid you have a fever," he said softly. Marcus saw that Ed's wound was properly bandaged. William turned to face them. "I only had a few painkillers and some Neosporin to give him. It will help with the pain, but if he's got a fever, he has an infection, and there's nothing I can do about that. We simply don't have the resources. I'm sorry."

"So what _can_ we do?" Marcus asked.

"I've got a few ideas. There's a doctor, Hanson, who travels around a lot, tending to the various...communities? Survivors? I don't know what to call them. Tending to the people spread out across the city. I'll start trying to get in touch with him as soon as we're done here. But what we're really going to need is medicine. I'm not sure where we can get that...I'll have to think about it. For now, he'll just have to rest," Lily replied.

"Fine," Marcus said uncertainly, not happy with the outcome of the conversation, but not knowing what else to do. He wanted to say something to Ed, but the man was asleep. He looked peaceful, at least. Lily was walking away, back towards the gate and the watchtower. Marcus and Maya followed her. Lily led them to the front porch, then stopped and looked at them unhappily. She seemed distinctly uncomfortable.

"So, I didn't want to say anything in front your friend, but...a fever is a bad sign. If we don't find some antibiotics soon, he probably won't live to see Doc Hanson. Now, while he won't turn while he's still alive, it seems that everyone who dies _does_ turn after death. If that's the case, I promise Alan will take care of him...bullet to the brain. Quick and painless."

Marcus felt a splash of cold fear wash through him at the thought of Ed being shot in the head. The fear quickly turned to irrational anger at Lily for even suggesting it. "Jesus, Lily, he's not a fucking rabid dog that needs to be put down!" he snapped.

Lily's features screwed up. "Don't you think I know that!?" she cried. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. "Look, more of us died than lived. Do you know how slim our chances of survival are right now? There's hundreds, maybe thousands of them out there, and the government or the military obviously isn't coming to help us. We're on our own. We can't afford to be softhearted about this. You got it?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm sorry. I just...this is a bit much, you know?" Marcus murmured.

"I know. It's fine. But...well, continuing what I just said, we can't have any dead weight around here. Everyone needs to be doing something to continue our existence. No slackers, you know?" she asked, sounding apologetic but firm.

"I'm no slacker," Marcus replied.

"Me neither. I'm in the army. I can run, I can gun. I also noticed some gaps in your barbed wire set-up I could fix, and I could probably make that watchtower a bit sturdier. I can also pull guard duty or repair guns if you need," Maya said.

"Wow, we really lucked out with you," Lily murmured.

"I'm afraid I'm not as useful. But I am fit and not afraid of hard work," Marcus said.

"Fair enough," Lily replied.

"If you don't need me for anything, I'm going to get something to eat and go to sleep for the night," Maya said.

"That sounds fine," Lily replied.

Maya turned and walked into the church. Marcus lingered a moment longer. "So what's his problem?" he asked, looking up at Alan atop the watchtower.

Lily snorted. "Oh, poor Alan...he's one of those guys who takes himself too seriously. The way he talks, you'd think he was some hardcore Special Forces vet or something. But he's not. He was in the police force for a while, but he was fired...I don't know why. It was before my time. He picked up work as a park ranger maybe fifteen years ago. He's just got a stick up ass is all, and I don't see it coming out anytime soon."

"So, you, Alan, Sam and William...just the four of you?"

"No, there's my dad and brother, too, but they're both out for supplies. Honestly, I'm starting to get a little worried about them," Lily replied.

Marcus felt a pang of guilt and fear. Her father...should he tell her? He yawned, suddenly, unexpectedly. A big, jaw-cracking yawn that spoke of deep lethargy. Lily mirrored it. "Yeah, I think it's about that time," she said.

"I guess so," Marcus murmured. It could wait, he decided. At least a little bit longer. It wasn't like he was aching to tell a teenager girl he'd killed her father. No...he hadn't killed that man. The zombies did. He just finished the job.

"Good night. I'm sure we'll figure something out by morning," Lily said.

"Yeah, I hope so...good night."

Marcus watched her walk into the church, then began walking towards the gazebo at the back. When he got there, he found that Ed was still asleep and William was nearby. Marcus studied the gazebo. Obviously they'd expanded their living space into the exterior structure. There were two, single-wide beds, one tucked into each corner. A desk and chair occupied another corner. William was seated there, reading a bible by candlelight.

"How are you?" he asked as Marcus came in.

"Very tired," Marcus replied. The weight of the day seemed to be coming down on him, and now it was a genuine struggle to stay awake.

"I'm a night owl by nature," William said. "Not so good back before the zombie apocalypse, but now it suits me well. I take the night watch, along with, sometimes, Alan or Sam. Why don't you sleep? The temperature shouldn't drop below sixty five tonight and I'll be here, watching over the two of you," he suggested.

"That sounds like a good deal," Marcus replied. "Tell me, were there others, before now? I know about Lily's dad and brother..."

"There were twelve of us, at first," William said quietly. "Some were injured and succumbed to their wounds. Others...decided they wanted to take their chances out in the city."

"Oh...sorry," Marcus murmured.

"It's okay. Pleasant dreams."

Marcus laid down on the bed beneath the blanket after putting his revolver beneath the pillow. It was uncomfortable, but worth it. He didn't take off his shoes, wanting to be able to leap out of bed and go in two seconds flat if he had to.

Within a minute, he was asleep.


	10. Chapter 10: The Morning After

Marcus awoke the next morning to the sight of early morning sunshine streaming in through the gazebo. He stared up at the weathered, paint-chipped ceiling and felt surprisingly good. When he'd gone to sleep, Marcus had been utterly convinced that his head would be full of nightmares, his sleep as harrowing as his escape from Mount Tanner. But if he'd had any, he didn't remember them, and there were no lingering negative emotions like when he usually had a particularly bad one. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd say he felt...

Good.

Why good? He'd just stumbled into a world that had gone to hell in a handcart, a world overrun by the walking dead. Maybe he was in shock. Or maybe it was the fact that he woke up a few times during the night, and all he could remember was the soft luminescence of starlight and the flickering light of a candle, and the calming, benevolent presence of Pastor William. Marcus rolled over in his bed, fully expecting the chair where the man had sat all night to be empty, but it was not. William still sat with his feet propped up on the desk.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked without turning around.

Slightly startled, Marcus sat up. "Uh, yeah, I did. Thanks for watching over us...how's Ed?" he asked, looking over.

"His fever is worse, I'm afraid," Will replied unhappily, closing the bible with a snap and getting to his feet. "I've been giving him water and checking his wound periodically. The bleeding has stopped but...I'm afraid we're going to need some kind of antibiotics."

"Wonderful," Marcus muttered, standing up.

He stretched and popped his neck and shoulders, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He felt a desperate need to piss. He grabbed the revolver and tucked it into his waistband, then eyed his backpack, which he'd shrugged out of and dropped beside his bed without realizing it last night. He pulled it back on.

"Have the others come by to say anything?" Marcus asked.

"No," Will replied. "Should they have?"

"I'm surprised Alan didn't show up in the middle of the night and carry us out beyond the wall," Marcus said.

"I wouldn't let that happen. This is my church, in as much as it's anyone's, and I won't let you be thrown out," William replied.

"Thank you. Really, you're very kind, William."

"It comes with the territory. Also, I prefer Will."

"Got it. I'm going to go find breakfast and see about finding some more medicine for Ed."

"Good luck."

Marcus left the gazebo and went into the church through the back way. He found Maya, Sam and Lily eating breakfast in the kitchen. All of them were eating from cans and drinking from bottles of water. At that thought, Marcus stopped and shrugged out of his backpack.

"Hey," he said, "I've got some stuff to contribute."

"Whatcha got?" Lily replied.

Marcus set out the bottle of Advil he'd picked up at the camp sites, as well as the five bottles of water. He kept one of them for himself. "Ed's got some, too, in his pack."

"Great! Also, I had an idea last night, about the meds," Lily said, setting aside her breakfast for the moment to sort the supplies.

"That's great, but I need a moment to take a leak or I'm going to piss my pants. Does the bathroom still work?"

"For toilet stuff, yeah. For everything else, no. We can't shower or drink from faucets since the water isn't being filtered anymore. There's some Listerine in there if you want to practice oral hygiene. We found like a crate's worth," Lily said.

"All right, thanks."

Marcus moved through the back bedroom, finding it empty. He wondered where Alan was. Probably on the watchtower already. He seemed the early bird type. Marcus stepped into the tiny bathroom and wondered how a man could live here like this. He wondered if Pastor Will _had_ lived here before the chaos. It wasn't impossible. Marcus relieved himself and flushed, frowning at the ugly color of the water, and added that to a checklist of problems that was quickly growing. Any perishable foods would be spoiled by now because there was no power left, except for generators. Same for water. If he wanted to drink, it'd have to be from bottles or boiled.

As he washed his mouth out, he glanced at the shower. No showers, no baths...unless they wanted to boil water for that, too. Which really sucked. After spitting out the Listerine, Marcus made a mental note to find some deodorant and then stepped back out into the bedroom. He passed Will on the way in, wished the man good morning, then closed the door to the bedroom behind him. Sam and Maya were gone, and Lily looked eager.

"Come on, I'll explain my plan," she said, motioning to the door that led to the main room. Marcus followed her, grabbing a bottle of water and, after a moment's selection, a can of corned beef hash. It wouldn't taste as good raw, but it was better than nothing. As it was, he was starving. Marcus came into the main room and saw that everyone but Ed and Will was waiting for him. He sat down on one of the chairs along the wall and proceeded to eat breakfast.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked.

"It's bullshit, is what it is," Alan muttered.

"It's a good plan," Lily said firmly. "We don't have a proper hospital or even a clinic in Spencer's Mill. That's over in Fairfield or Marshall."

"Fairfield doesn't have a hospital," Alan cut in.

Lily sighed. "What_ever_, that's not my point. My point is that we _do_ have a vet's office. And the antibiotics used on people and dogs are the same thing. Marcus, you, Sam and Alan should head down to the vet's office. It's a little past the edge of town, they know where it is. You grab whatever you can in terms of meds and come back. In the meantime, I'll get on the radio and track down Doctor Hanson so he can swing by and look at Ed."

"And who's gonna watch the fort while we're gone, huh?" Alan asked suddenly. "Obviously Will ain't gonna do it, he's asleep. The new kid can't, he's dying. What about you, Lily? You really going to grab a rifle and climb into the watchtower?"

"I'll do it," Maya said. "I'm in the army. I can handle guard duty."

"That shut you right the hell up," Sam said with a grin after Alan didn't respond.

"Thank you, Maya," Marcus said.

"Whatever, I'll be waiting by the gate. Don't make me wait too long," Alan said, then stomped out of the room.

Sam sighed. "I'll go make sure he doesn't leave without us. He's dumb like that," she said, and left.

"And _I've_ got to visit the ladies room," Lily said. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Marcus watched her go, then sighed as he walked over to the communal supply corner. Maya joined him.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm just worried about getting kicked out. You'll be fine, you're far too valuable to turn away, no matter how stubborn or arrogant Alan is. Me and Ed on the other hand, at best, I'm neutral and Ed's a drain until he gets better. Even then...Ed's never been good with manual labor." Marcus found several boxes of bullets and began searching for the one that matched his six shooter.

"You'll want the one that says .45 on the side," Maya said, joining him. "And stop worrying. Alan and Lily may talk a tough game, but I think they really want to keep us. Lily does, she's just afraid to show it, and Alan does too, and he'll never show it. He might even go as far as to kick you two out, just to prove how tough he is. But if you give him an excuse to keep you, he'll begrudgingly fold and the issue will drop, because he's afraid of being alone just as much as we all are. And besides, I'm sure you're not totally useless. You survived last night. You're clearly brave, in shape and you can shoot a gun. That puts you head and shoulders above most civilians."

"Thanks," Marcus said, hesitating slightly, wondering why Maya was being nice all of a sudden. Maybe last night's experience and the realization that they were now living in a post-apocalyptic valley had rattled her more than she cared to admit.

Marcus couldn't find the .45s and wondered if they had any. He finally sighed and pulled out his gun. He unloaded it, set it in the gun locker and put all the spare bullets into an empty can of what had once been beans. Spying a marker for likely just such an occasion, he wrote **.45** on the side, then looked through the remaining arsenal.

There wasn't much.

"Not your type of gun, huh?" Maya asked.

"No, not really," Marcus replied. There were a pair of hunting rifles, a shotgun and two pistols. Not bad, considering. He grabbed a black pistol and spied a pair of magazines next to it. He loaded the pistol and pocketed the second magazine.

"That's an M9," Maya said. "Standard issue for the military. It's a good gun." She grabbed one of the rifles and a magazine for it. "Come on, I imagine Alan and Sam aren't the patient type."

Marcus nodded and prepared to leave, then suddenly realized he'd lost track of his melee weapon somewhere during the chaos. Frowning, he thought about it for a moment, and realized it must be back near the bed. He hurried through the church, came out the back and went to the gazebo. Ed was still asleep in the bed, sweating badly, not looking good at all. Marcus spied his crowbar lying on the wooden floor next to his bed. He retrieved it and stopped, standing over Ed. Maya would be watching over him...but she'd also be watching over the entire compound. Lily would be there, too, and Will would technically be on site...

He didn't want to leave his friend unguarded and sick and passed out, but he didn't have a choice. Sighing quietly, he left the gazebo. He'd have to go fast, get this stuff and get back quick. Only...what if someone else had had this idea? What if someone else had already raided the vet's office? It didn't matter, he needed to go there anyway.

"You coming?" Alan asked petulantly as he approached the gate.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Marcus replied. He'd put up with asshole managers in his office job before this. He figured he could probably handle a cranky old park ranger.

"Let's go, then," Sam said, opening the gate and stepping out through it.

Marcus followed her and Alan into the unknown of Spencer's Mill.


	11. Chapter 11: Spencer's Mill Vet Clinic

In the warm, sane light of day, the city of Spencer's Mill looked significantly less threatening. Unfortunately, it was also that much easier to see all the damage and decay. Marcus followed Alan and Sam down a dirt road leading away from the church. The same road he, Ed and Maya had driven up last night.

"Why aren't we driving?" he asked.

"Because only a dumbass drives around a city full of these things," Alan replied.

"What Alan is trying to say is that cars make noise, and the zeds _like_ noise, so we don't want to attract any extra attention," Sam replied. "Not to mention that cars aren't exactly a renewable resources and we only have so many of them."

"Keep it down," Alan hissed.

Sam sighed, but quieted down. Marcus tried to keep a watchful eye on his surroundings as they continued along the dirt road. Either side of the path was overgrown with trees and shrubs, though it extended into a forest to the right. To the left were a few houses down a short incline. If he focused, Marcus could see some broken out windows, the occasional dead body, random debris dropped on the ground in the chaos that must have consumed the town. He didn't focus too hard. If he did, it began to make him sick.

He turned his thoughts to his new roommates...or landlords...or whatever the hell they were. Alan, he didn't trust. Besides the man's abrasive attitude and just the general fact that he was clearly a jerk, there was something there a little deeper. Something that set Marcus on edge. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it frightened him. Sam, on the other hand, seemed more straightforward. He got the feeling that being in a bad mood and short with people was just her way of dealing with the zombie apocalypse.

They reached the end of the dirt road. The road split. Left led further into the residential area (of which most of the town seemed to be), and straight led past a pair of houses, one of which had clearly still been under construction with the zombies hit. It was still nothing more than a skeletal woodworking of a house.

Alan and Sam led him on dead ahead. Marcus heard a low groan come from somewhere nearby and Alan and Sam froze. He did, too, waiting. Some rustling came from the right. Marcus gripped his crowbar, waiting. A mass of bushes shifted, and then the zombie seemed to be birthed from it. Alan didn't wait for it to come to them. He rushed over to it and cracked its skull with the large red wrench he was carrying in one sure, swift hit.

"Come on," he said as the body dropped.

They kept going, straight down the outer road.

Now, he found his thoughts drifting towards the scope of the outbreak. It seemed likely that the entirety of Trumbull Valley was infected with these things. But how far did this outbreak extend? The state? The country? The whole world? Were they living in a genuine zombie apocalypse? The thought chilled him. Things that mattered more than practically anything a month ago now didn't mean shit. Bills to pay? Who cares, there's zombies outside. Don't have a job? Who cares, there's zombies walking around outside!

Survival mattered now. Resources, friendships, a place to live and defend yourself from the hordes. Marcus suddenly found himself incredibly grateful that he had no known medical conditions and didn't need glasses. He was fairly smart, fit and at least somewhat brave. He could shoot a gun, he could fight if he really had to. He was pretty well-suited to survive in this horrifying new world. But that meant a lot of people weren't.

The road they were on came to an end. To the right was the road that would ultimately terminate at Mount Tanner. They broke left, passing another house, a low row of storage units, a restaurant and a post office. Alan and Sam hadn't said a word the whole time and so far, any zombies in the area were keeping their distance. Marcus kept thinking about that last part. How many people were dead? If this was widespread, how many people?

Were his parents still alive? In a way, he was also glad that he and Ed had no pets. Marcus had no siblings, nor any aunts or uncles, just his parents. They were like him: fit, active, capable. His father was an outdoorsman, at least to a certain degree. He imagined his parents would have taken off to the family cabin they'd bought, it was out in the woods about thirty miles outside of town. They could last for a while out there.

Marcus stopped this train of thought. He didn't necessarily like it. How long was long enough? How long would this whole thing last? They came to a diner with broken out windows to their left and the pair led Marcus across the abandoned parking lot, stepping over bodies and broken glass. As they reached the edge of the lot, they paused.

"It's there," Alan said.

Up ahead was a wrecked, flipped-over camper. But beyond that, further down the road, he could see a structure. The vet clinic.

"So what's the plan?" Marcus asked.

"We get in, we clear the place out, you watch our asses while we search for any and all meds, then we get out," Alan replied tersely.

"Sounds like fun," Marcus muttered.

"It's not supposed to be fun!" he snapped.

"Shut _up_," Sam whispered harshly. "There don't seem to be that many of them around, so let's go," she said.

The trio started up again. They jogged across the street, around the ruined camper and into the parking lot of the building. As they began moving across the blacktop, a sudden chorus of zombie voices, groans and moans and the occasional muttered semi-phrase, came to them.

"Freeze!" Alan hissed.

Marcus looked around frantically and finally spied another group of zombies, maybe twelve or fifteen of them, coming at them from further down the road, past the vet clinic. Following Alan's quick hand commands, they ducked down low and moved over to the only car left parked in the lot. There they sat, squatted on their haunches, for several minutes as the voices grew louder. They kept getting louder until they were practically right next to them. Then the voices receded until they were almost gone. Marcus let out a long sigh.

"Come on," Alan muttered.

"Why do they do that?" Marcus asked as they crossed the cracked blacktop parking lot. "Group together like that?"

"I don't know, but we've been seeing it more lately," Sam replied.

"Be quiet!" Alan growled.

They reached the front door to the clinic. Marcus tried the knob and found it unlocked. He pushed the door open, staring into the clinic's dim lobby. The only light came from the morning sun through the stained, cracked front windows. Marcus moved deeper into the building, crowbar at ready, but he heard nothing.

The building didn't seem to be very large. There was just a single door at the back. Marcus moved through it, coming into an examination room that doubled as a kennel. He stopped as a reek of dead, rotting flesh came to him. The light was even worse here, because there weren't many windows. He looked across the ground.

"Oh, god," he moaned sickly.

"Jesus," Sam whispered from behind him.

The bloody, gory remains of several dogs, maybe a dozen, were scattered across the cement floor. It looked like the zombies had been feasting here. Marcus felt sick to his stomach. He took a step to the side and tried to breathe through his mouth. Forcing himself to focus, he turned and looked through another open door. It led to an exam room that seemed to double as a supply area. There was nothing waiting inside. He cleared the last room, an office, and then hurried back to the lobby area, his breakfast threatening to come up.

"Building's clear," he managed to Alan, who'd been watching the front.

"Watch our ass," the ranger replied, then disappeared back into the slaughterhouse.

Marcus swallowed several times, trying to get the images out of his head, and moved to the front door. He looked out through the glass and couldn't see any zombies nearby. He locked the deadbolt, hoping it would keep the zombies out if they showed up. Behind him, he heard the other two shifting around, deeper in the building.

Time passed. Seconds bled into minutes.

Marcus's pulse was slowly rising as the tension increased. He kept waiting for something to go wrong, a zombie to pop up, or a hoard of them. More time passed. He heard a distant growl. Somewhere, maybe back in the office, he heard Sam curse.

"What is it?" Alan asked.

"My rucksack is fucking falling apart at the damn seams," Sam snapped back.

"Just grab what you can, we've been here too long," Alan replied.

"No, I've got to get everything we can. We won't have an opportunity like this again."

"And we won't have _any_ opportunities if we wind up dead!"

"Goddamnit, Alan-"

Marcus turned his attention back to the front door and barely managed to muffle a startled shout. Where there had only been a vacant lot there were now five zombies, stumbling their way. Apparently they'd heard the argument.

"Uh, guys, we've got zombies," Marcus called back.

"Dammit! See, I told you, let's _go_, Sam!" Alan yelled.

"Fuck! All right."

The pair of them returned to the lobby a moment later. Marcus nodded and got his crowbar ready. He turned the handle and pushed the door open. Or tried to. He rebounded off, cursed and then undid the deadbolt. Opening the door, he stepped out, sweeping the area with his gaze for the nearest zombie. It seemed to be about ten feet away, dead ahead and-A cold, clammy hand fell on his forearm, gripping him tightly.

He cried out, turning and tried to get out of the grip of a man in a torn business suit with glowing yellow eyes and a wide, blood-smeared mouth that was coming for him. But the grip was like iron. Abruptly, the head snapped back and half of it vaporized. His hearing was blown out and his vision briefly, too. A gunshot, he realized after a second as he shrugged off the zombie.

"Goddamnit, Sam!" Alan roared, though he sounded faraway.

"Shut up and run!" Sam replied.

Then he was running, dodging past zombies with Sam and Alan, rushing across the parking lot. They hit the road, crossed it and had made it across the diner parking lot when Sam suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, cursing violently.

"What is it?" Marcus asked, his hearing somewhat back now.

"My fucking rucksack, it's coming apart! At this rate we'll lose half the stuff on the run home," she replied, dropping to her knees and grabbing a few errant bottles of medicine that had fallen out.

"Leave it!" Alan snapped, stopping with them but looking like he might take off at any moment.

"No, we need it!" Sam replied.

"I'll go get a car," Marcus said.

"No, it's too dangerous!" Alan said.

"Go get a car, Marcus," Sam said.

"Screw you, I'm out. You want a horde coming down on your ass, fine." Alan turned and started jogging away.

"Alan, get back here!" Sam cried.

He didn't say anything. Marcus got out his pistol.

"Stay here, I'll be right back with a car."


End file.
